


Let it be

by crimsonepitaph



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Language, firefighter!Jared, nurse!Jensen, past Jensen/Jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonepitaph/pseuds/crimsonepitaph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is an ER nurse who is trying to survive a tragedy. Jared is a firefighter with his own tragic story. Jared's teenage son's accident brings them together - but can they overcome their heartbreaking pasts and find happiness together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's note #1:** Title, of course, from the Beatles song. 
> 
> **Author's note #2:** This is an entry for this year's challenge, for the following prompt: _Daredevil firefighter Jess Corbett has spent his life running - from memories of his childhood, and the death of his fiancee. Then a dangerous rescue sees him reunited with tough-cookie nurse Julie Clark. Her warmth challenges his avoid-at-all-costs stance on love, but can she break through the ice that encases this gorgeous loner's heart?_  
>  Deviated a little from it - but I hope it still fits.
> 
>   
> **Author's note #3:** This was fic written at 3AM, half-asleep. Naturally, drafts I sent **borgmama1of5** were an incoeherent mess with about a billion typos, and just as many sentences that had no idea what they wanted to be. But, as always, she sifted through everything with endless patience, and made it all come together in something resembling readeable. She's a miracle worker. Big, big thank you to her for putting up with my ramblings and for all the help she's given me - with summary and title, too.

**PART ONE  
  
  
[Jensen]**  
  
  
“Hey, I’m just going to clean this, okay? So how about staying still?” Jensen says quietly as he puts a hand on the boy’s bicep, trying to stop him from thrashing around.  
  
“No – Maddy –“  
  
“She’s just next door. The doctors are taking good care of her. Now –“ Jensen gently pushes him back down on the pillow, “Let’s take care of you, kid. You got pretty banged up there.”  
  
The boy acquiesces, though he glares at Jensen the whole time.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
Jensen nods as he picks up a swab with disinfectant. “Sure you are, hotshot. But the motorcycle skid marks had the paramedics a little paranoid, so bear with us overcautious types.” He faces the kid, studying the long, deep gash running from temple to cheek, torn, angry skin caked with dirt and blood. ”I don’t think you’ve looked in a mirror yet. I have to clean this, then the doctor comes and stitches it, we do an MRI on that hard head of yours and you go home with only a few broken ribs and  _not_ looking like Frankenstein. Plus, we don’t get sued. Everybody’s happy.”  
  
The kid looks at Jensen like he’s missing a few wheels, but on the plus side, he’s stopped flailing around and trying to mow Jensen down to get to his girlfriend, so, small victories. And, after a stare-down that would have made a reputation in the Wild West, the boy lets out an annoyed huff, presumably to inform Jensen he’s staying there against his will and would very much like to be somewhere else right now.  
  
Jensen got that memo. Repeatedly.  
  
He starts prodding at the wound, carefully, but methodically diligent – and it must be hurting like a motherfucker, it’s a deep, nasty cut – but the kid takes it without any comment, with only an angry frown and lips pursed in a thin line.  
  
Jensen’s kind of impressed at the dedication this kid – seventeen, leather jacket, soft blue eyes, poster child for the kind of rebellion whose only merit is its entertainment value later in life – has for the tough guy routine. It’s patently obvious who all that anger is directed at, and it’s certainly not Jensen.  
But he’s happy to be a stand-in, as long as the kid gets it out.  
  
“She’s okay, kid,” Jensen says as he works, when he’s sure that the guy won’t jump running at the words. “She has a dislocated shoulder, a broken wrist, and a whole lot of scrapes and bruises, but she’s okay. She’s up and talking, and, with any luck, you should both be discharged today.”  
  
“She – she’s good?”  
  
The kid’s voice cracks on the second word, and he’s searching Jensen’s eyes for the truth with a determination that doesn’t waver even as he grips Jensen’s wrist with a shaky hand, halts Jensen’s movement.  
  
“Yeah, kid. She’s okay. You’re both okay.” Jensen repeats, this time looking straight into the boy’s eyes. He’ll do it again, as many times as the kid needs, because these are the words he doesn’t mind, these are the words he wishes he could say every time.  
  
“Colin.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Name’s Colin,” he smirks at Jensen, “And I’m not a kid.”  
  
Jensen cocks his head, pretends to think about it as he finishes disinfecting the wound. “Debatable. I mean, I’m sure you have life all figured out,” Jensen muses as the kid –  _Colin–_ glares with just the right amount of righteous indignation and sprinkle of murderous intent in his eyes, “but we still had to call your dad. Laws, you know, irrelevant stuff like that.”  
  
Jensen figured his patient wouldn’t be exactly thrilled – it doesn’t exactly look like the kid let anyone know he’d be taking the bike on a joyride. Still, the way Colin tenses up, the return of the angry frown and the surprising coldness in what were warm eyes, even in anger – that’s unexpected.  
  
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Colin hisses.  
  
Jensen sighs. “I’m assuming you so carefully ignored the part about laws. You’re pretty good at that, huh?”  
  
He gets no response, so Jensen continues, “Look, I’m sure your father is very worried.”  
  
Colin snorts. “You don’t know anything.”  
  
True enough. Jensen lets it go. Platitudes don’t help. Especially a smart kid like this.  
  
Jensen’s voice is a steady cadence as he cleans the wound, and, gradually, the tension seeps from the kid’s frame as he crashes after the surge of adrenaline. He sinks into the mattress at the end of a deep breath, eyes closing – and Jensen feels no satisfaction in knowing that would happen.  
  
This is the part where the loved ones come in. Where Jensen can’t do anything, because he’s strictly an onlooker. This is the part where a look, a gesture,  _familiarity, safety, affection_ counts for more than anything, where  _they’re okay, they’re good_ slams against  _what could have happened_ – and Jensen’s seen reactions ranging from hysterical sobs of relief to angry words that mask the terror a parent feels in a situation like this – the heartwarming, euphoric  _“I’m so glad you’re alive”_  part, and the epically disastrous, _“You’re grounded for the next century”_ downward spiral after that. The consequences start to fade in – but the paralyzing fear – that’s the kind of thing that lasts forever, that’s etched into the mind against will.  
  
Jensen’s just about to stand up, take off his gloves, when –  
  
“Colin?!”  
  
The voice is deep, rough and a little hoarse – a loud sound that resonates in the small room, and makes even Jensen wince at the inflection. Colin’s eyes shoot open. Jensen turns around, fully prepared to deal with a frantic parent, gearing up to make sure father and son don’t do serious harm to each other before the  _I love you_ part.  
  
But he’s blindsided – again – when the owner of the voice turns out to be a perfectly calm, brick wall of a man standing just inside the curtain –  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
 _Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous._  
  
 _Fuck, that’s a uniform._  
  
 _He’s a firefighter. Fuck._  
  
 _Inappropriate._  
  
 _Think._  
  
 _I mean, what the fuck, how – he’s not a dad – he doesn’t look like a dad –_  
  
 _Speak._  
  
 _Jesus fucking Christ –_  
  
”Hello.” Jensen somehow manages to get out.  
  
The man’s gaze snaps to Jensen, eyes so bright, so full of anguish and worry that it takes Jensen aback. It contrasts with everything in the steady, self-assured stance, the quiet power and strength he exudes – he looks huge in the full-padded gear, helmet in hands, smells of smoke and  _burnt,_ soot smudged in small patches on his fingers, on his cheek – and Jensen stops, stares for a moment, even if it isn’t right, even if it’s a moment that shouldn’t lend itself to that.  
  
The man extends a hand, speaks, voice gruff.  
  
“Padalecki, Jared. Colin’s dad.”  
  
Jensen nods, but raises his hands, wiggles his fingers to get the point of the latex gloves across. Padalecki – _Jared –_ nods.  
  
“Right.” He turns his gaze towards his son, who is pointedly ignoring him, staring at the ceiling, features pinched tight. “Is he – he’s alright?”  
  
Jensen notices he doesn’t come closer. He doesn’t touch. His eyes are telling one story, but his body language is saying a very different one. It makes it easier. Jensen slips back to professional, to what he should have been all along.  
  
“Yes. He has some minor cuts and lacerations – I was just getting someone to stitch him up. He has a two broken ribs, presumably from the impact, and a whole lot of bruising, but otherwise, he’s fine.”  
  
The firefighter nods again. It’s visible, that moment where he takes a deep breath, where the cord snaps – his eyes dull to a hazel muted in soft shadows of gold and brown.  
  
“Colin –“  
  
It’s a bit softer, when he talks to his son.  
  
“Save it.”  
  
The retort is not. Colin‘s response is thrown out in a harsh tone, cold voice – and he meets his father’s eyes for the first time. “I know.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re disappointed. I’m ruining my life. You didn’t raise me like this.” He smiles hollowly. “Am I close enough?”  
  
 _No,_ the man’s eyes say.  
  
But maybe Jensen doesn’t understand enough, because that’s not what Padalecki says.  
  
“We’ll talk about this at home. I’ll wait outside.”  
  
He gives his son a once over, and only fidgets a bit with the helmet in his hands as he steps out of the cubicle.  
  
Jensen’s eyes meet Colin’s.  
  
The boy laughs, hollow and bitter. “Piece of work, my old man, huh?”  
  
  


~

 

Jensen’s putting the finishing touches on Colin Padalecki’s chart – happy to see that MRIs and scans are clear, no internal bleeding or life-threatening head trauma. He’s at the nurses’ station, and Chris is talking while Jensen writes, but Jensen just tunes him out, watches from the corner of his eye how Padalecki’s leaning against the wall at the far corner.  
  
He’s been there a long time. He doesn’t move, only stares at a random point on the wall.  
  
He’s dirty, disheveled, clothes lined with a fine layer of dust and ash.  
  
He’s lost.  
  
Jensen revises his assessment. The man looks so small.  
  
  


~

 

“Mr. Padalecki?”  
  
He raises his gaze, and slowly, focuses on Jensen.  
  
“I’m Jensen. I’m your son’s nurse?”  
  
The man smiles, slightest tilt of his lips, but genuine, and Jensen’s surprised.  
  
“Yeah. I remember. ”  
  
So, okay, this smiling thing might be a little contagious.  
  
Still, Jensen doesn’t allow that to get him off track. “Colin’s back from his scans. Everything seems to be in order, so we’re discharging him. I have a few papers you need to sign.”  
  
Up close, Padalecki’s eyes change color. Or maybe Jensen’s mind’s is just playing tricks on him after being on call for twenty straight hours.  
  
“You said he’s alright.”  
  
He’s searching. Trying to tether himself to that reassurance. Jensen nods. “He is. But he was a little dizzy and pretty agitated when he came in, and we didn’t want to take any chances.”  
  
A pause that stretches, hovers, anchors itself in the relief in Jared’s eyes.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Jensen laughs, small, contained, without real humor. “It’s the job.”  
  
“Still. I – “  
  
Padalecki stops. He doesn’t have the words. Jensen’s seen it enough to recognize it. That doesn’t mean Jensen doesn’t understand.  
  
“Hard to see, even if it’s a scratch, right?”  
  
Padalecki nods, grateful. “He’s my kid.” He gives a watery laugh. “How else am I supposed to feel about it?”  
  
“Yeah.” Jensen raises an eyebrow. “That confuses me. What were you, like, twelve?”  
  
Levity. Maybe it’ll work. Jensen likes people. He  _knows_  people, more importantly. He’s good at this, at bringing people back from the brink, then talking till they forget they were there. Admittedly, Jensen’s initial reaction to Padalecki left him a bit unsteady, but at the end of the day, he’s a professional. That’s all that really matters. And part of being a nurse for so many years comes with seeing a lot of variations of the same things. Injuries. Illness. Families. Love. Though some days he’s still trying to figure it out.  
  
“Sixteen, actually.” Padalecki shrugs. “Still feels like that sometimes.”  
  
But that is an admission that carries a price. Padalecki catches himself too late - he clearly hadn’t wanted to say that.  
  
Jensen’s saved from answering when he spots Colin down the hall. He’s ducking into the room where his girlfriend is.  
  
And then, suddenly, yelling erupts.  
  
Loud, harsh words spit out in anger, reverberating across the hall.  
  
“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you. Swear to god, I’ll wring your neck, you fucking lowlife, you ever get close to her again, touch her, see –“  
  
But the tirade is promptly cut off by Padalecki, who tears open the curtain –  _how the hell did he get down the hall so fast_  – and charges at the guy.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
Padalecki has his elbow at the man’s throat, pinning him to the only wall the little cubicle has.  
  
There’s a standstill, a few seconds where time stops, and there’s nothing left to do but watch. The collision, then the aftermath. Jensen thinks about intervening, thinks about something to say, but before he can do any of that, Padalecki lets go, steps back – and Jensen sees, he’s in control, he knows exactly what he’s doing – but the dangerous glint in his eyes is ringing a few alarm bells in Jensen’s mind.  
  
“You don’t talk to my son like that.”  
  
The man is seething. From the panicked looks on the girl’s face, the only thing stopping her from running is Colin’s grip on her uninjured hand.  
  
Jensen gets closer to them, signals Chris and the security man that have gathered around that he can handle it. It’s past the end of a really long fucking shift, and a big scene is not the way Jensen wants to end it.  
  
“Gentlemen –“  
  
“Your  _son –“_ and the word drips venom, as the girl’s dad ignores Jensen, “– your fucking son put  _my_  baby girl in the hospital.”  
  
Yeah, Jensen’s plan to talk them down is off to a really good start.  
  
But Padalecki is surprisingly – frankly, frighteningly, calm.  
  
“It was an accident. It wasn’t his fault,” Jared states, no inflection at all.  
  
Colin’s still watching, and he’s still too young to mask all the emotions like his dad. He steps closer to Maddy’s bed, mouths “Are you okay?”  
  
The dark-haired girl nods at Colin, then resumes staring apprehensively at her father.  
  
“The hell it was! He’s dragging her down. Ever since she met your loser son her GPA dropped, she comes home late, she talks back – “  
  
“Those all sound like things your daughter does. Not my son.”  
  
Jensen winces at Padalecki’s reply. Maddy’s dad growls. Predictably, and something Jensen would have bet good money on from the start, there’s a punch. It catches Padalecki on the cheek, his head snapping back with a wince-inducing crunch. Jensen steps forward, but Padalecki’s hand splays on his chest, stops him from intervening without ever looking his way.  
  
Padalecki licks the blood off his split lip, shakes his head. “You done?”  
  
To his credit, Maddy’s dad seems dazed, confused about what he’s just done. And Jensen understands. What Jared’s doing, and why. If the man is focused on Jared, Colin is off the radar.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“I’m asking you if you want to take another swing at me or you want to be with your daughter,” Padalecki calmly explains to the man.  
  
He stutters a response. Shakes his head. Padalecki backs away a few steps, watches as the man stumbles towards his daughter. Colin, for all his bravado, seems to understand this is a time to stand back, let things play out.  
  
The girl eyes her father warily but takes his hand in hers in a sign in a sign of forgiveness – she understands, too, what this is. . The man looks back, but Padalecki only has eyes for his son.  
  
Colin’s rooted to the spot. Someone pulls the curtain closed, and Colin just stands, watches, stares at his dad.  
  
It’s moments that must add up to seconds, but watching, Jensen feels like there’s a lifetime exchanged in those glances. Unspoken words, questions, pleas – and he’s sure, someone will voice them. They’ll talk. But Colin breaks the moment, spins on his heels and leaves without a word, without a sound.  
  
Padalecki gives a small, hollow smile to the empty spot.  
  
“It’s okay. He loves me. I have a Father’s day mug that says that.”  
  
Back at the nurse’s station Jensen gives him the medical discharge papers to sign and an ice pack. He wants to ask Padalecki if he’s alright. He doesn’t. The answer’s too complicated to make the question worth it. The answer, Jensen’s pretty sure –is always  _I’m fine_.  
  
  


~

 

Chris plops down beside him, right hand outstretched, lighter in hand.  
  
Jensen takes it, lights up, nods gratefully.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Chris hums out an unintelligible, but decidedly dismissive sound.  
  
The concrete is cold. It’s chilly, early hour of dawn where everything is just starting to defrost.  
  
Chris’ drawn out, “Fuck,” on the end of an exhale hovers, spreads.  
  
“Yeah,” Jensen says simply, fiddles with the cigarette between his fingers. The taste is too bitter in his mouth. It’s a bitch of a revelation, not finding the usual relief. He doesn’t do it enough to crave it, but a night like this, he needs something.  
  
“You good?” Chris asks, but he knows the answer. Jensen laughs humorlessly.  
  
“Bitch of a shift.”  
  
“Just another day at Columbia Hospital, kid.”  
  
Jensen nudges him with his foot, knocks him in the knee. “Not a kid. Asshole.”  
  
Chris just smirks. “Learned that from Colin, did ya, Ackles?”  
  
Jensen arches an eyebrow. He doesn’t have the energy to be surprised.  
  
“You know him?”  
  
“Why’d you think security didn’t do anything about Jared?”  
  
Jensen huffs, but there’s no heat. “Well, I thought it was because everybody believed in my excellent mediating skills, but you’re suggesting that wasn’t the case.”  
  
Chris laughs, tired and just a little bit hollow.  
  
When Chris doesn’t say anything else, Jensen motions with his right hand, cigarette gliding between his knuckles, smoke trailing behind.  
  
“So,  _Jared_?”  
  
Chris turns to look at him, studies him for a moment. “Any particular reason you’re asking?” he challenges.  
  
“You don’t need to worry,” Jensen dismisses. “Just curious.”  
  
“I worry about you.”  
  
“You shouldn’t.”  
  
Chris huffs out an annoyed laugh. “Yeah. Keep telling me that.”  
  
He sighs, but answers Jensen’s question.  
  
“Jared Padalecki, firefighter out of 51. Jeff Morgan, head of trauma here is married to one of their EMTs. We hang out.”  
  
Jensen eyes Chris dubiously.  
  
“You do know I had already figured the firefighter bit out, by, I don’t know, the  _uniform_ he was wearing?”  
  
“Jesus, you’re cranky.”  
  
“So sue me, Miss Sunshine.” He crushes the cigarette butt on the crunchy gravel that covers the roof. “Just talk.”  
  
Chris does, grudgingly, while glaring at Jensen.  Seems to be the theme today. “Jeff, Steve, and I, a few others from the firehouse – we’re friends. That is, outside these fucking walls. So we hang out. Have nice dinners where we use the same fork for three courses and shit like that.  Jeff’s wife Gen came in a package with the guys at 51. They’re all pretty decent.”  
  
Which is Chris’ way of saying,  _yeah, I’d die for one of them and not blink an eye_. God, they’ve known each other way too long.  
  
Chris further demonstrates that when he doesn’t even let Jensen ask his question a second time.  
  
“Jared … fuck, man, I don’t know. He’s been around five or six years, I still have no idea. Steve tells me he’s a crazy fucker. But you know, Steve’s barometer of crazy is kind of fucked, the guy runs into burning buildings for a living, so, take what you will.” He shrugs. “My own thoughts? The guy lives for his son. Mother’s not in the picture, hasn’t been ever since I’ve known him. Keeps to himself enough that nobody says much about him.”  
  
Jensen thought something like that. First impressions and all.  
  
But, it doesn’t matter. Not even when Chris asks,  
  
“You interested in him? After one look?”  
  
There’s an edge in his voice, something Jensen wouldn’t notice if he didn’t know Chris as well as he does. Chris doesn’t look at Jensen. He’s trying not to judge. Jensen appreciates it.  
  
“I don’t know him, Chris. And from what you’re saying, looks like I won’t really get a chance.”  
  
  
 **[Jared]**  
  
  
He can’t see.  
  
Can’t breathe. Smoke. Dark.  
  
Someone’s crying. Screaming, scratching, clawing at the walls of his mind.  
  
Crushed. Breaking. Bones, snapping, loud, vicious. Cracking.  
  
Ashes, dust. Air, not enough.  
  
Jared wakes up.  
  
Eyes see the off-white tile of the ceiling, calming familiarity, all the fissures and cracks where they belong. He breathes, forced cadence until he stops remembering, until he anchors himself back to reality.  
  
Jared rubs a hand over his face, wills himself to get up.  
  
He hears laughter, probably Hodge’s, and he relaxes. Slowly, gradually, till he believes. Believes that dreams are just memories twisted, that they’re just failings of his own mind. It’s why he crashes here as often as he does – the station is familiar, good for dissolving the fog of his dreams, in absorbing all his fears, comforting even if only by the monotony of it.  
  
He makes his way down to the living area where Mike greets him way too enthusiastically.  
  
“Finally,” Mike says, while none too subtly shoving Jared in the direction of the kitchen.  
  
Jared arches an eyebrow.  
  
Mike shrugs unapologetically. “We’re hungry.”  
  
Jared steals a glance over the counter – all that separates the kitchen from a space filled with a huge dinner table, an old, tattered and lumpy couch, and a TV that has a sickly yellow-green game going, making it the primary cause for violence on the job – the color of the football jerseys does seem to play an important part in all the betting stuff.  
  
On the couch are Steve and Tom, while Aldis is at the table and, from what it looks like, losing all his money playing cards with Danneel.  
  
Everyone looks up at the sound of Jared entering – and Mike’s declaration starts to make a terrifying amount of sense, seeing how each and every one of his teammates has a pleading expression on their face, all wide and sheepish smiles that scream,  _feed us_ in bright neon pink letters.  
  
Jared sighs. “Thought that’s why we have a candidate.”  
  
 Danneel snorts, collects another little pile of money while Aldis looks on, pained expression on his face. “Welling’s not allowed to go near the stove anymore.”  
  
Jared laughs. “That bad?”  
  
“Remember that blue pan?”  
  
Jared nods.  
  
“It’s a flower pot now.”  
  
Jared snickers while he dutifully starts preparing all the stuff he needs. He looks up. “Mashed potatoes and steak?”  
  
Mike looks like he wants to kiss Jared. “You’re a God among men, Padalecki.”  
  
Danneel giggles. “All it takes is for someone to cook and Rosie’s coming in his pants.”  
  
Mike shrugs while he walks away, plops down on the couch with the latest edition of  _Babes on Wheels_ in his hand. “What can I say, Jay’s pot roast tickles all my sweet spots.”  
  
Steve groans. “Really? Did you have to say that?”  
  
Mike just grins.  
  
“You’re on cleaning duty for a month.”, Steve says, and Mike’s still sputtering and trying to come up with a valid reply while Steve gets up, makes his way towards Jared.  
  
Jared shakes his head at his teammates’ antics. It’s good. He forgets. He gets out of his own head.  
  
Steve comes up beside him, leans against the counter, arms crossed, and watches Jared working on the meat.  
  
 He’s making sure Jared’s alright. That’s what Steve does. And that’s why he’ll make such a good Lieutenant.  
  
But Jared doesn’t need it. He hates that Steve can read him, can see when he’s off kilter, the way he has been the last week.  
  
“You left your phone in the truck,” Steve says, and Jared breathes out, relieved.  
  
He’s stupidly grateful that Steve doesn’t ask him to talk about it. He probably knows, Jared wouldn’t be good at it.  
  
“Colin called,” Steve continues, and Jared’s head snaps up, because, yeah, he’s pissed beyond belief at the kid, but he still can’t quite temper that knee-jerk reaction, that moment when all the things that almost went wrong run through his mind.  
  
But Steve sees that, too, because he hurries to add, “He’s okay, Jay, he’s okay.” He smiles a little. “Just ranted about the keys to the truck.”  
  
Jared waits till his chest doesn’t feel too tight, till he can breathe properly before he talks.  
  
“Yeah, sorry about that.”  
  
He doesn’t look up, just continues the same mechanical motion with the heavy knife.  
  
“That’s not – fuck,” Steve huffs out, and Jared hears the irritation in his voice, but he can’t really figure out the reason behind it, especially when the next words out of Steve’s mouth are, “Just – everything okay?”  
  
Jared nods, somewhat distractedly. He doesn’t want to meet Steve’s gaze. He doesn’t know what he’ll see – worse, he doesn’t know what he’ll do, worried that too many words could come tumbling out of him.  
  
“Yeah, Colin’s healing. It was more the scare than anything else. He’s pissed at me ‘cause I took away everything but his phone and house keys, but hey, what’s new in the Padalecki household this week?”  
  
There’s a pause, only sound the muted voice of the announcer on the TV and Danneel’s laugh, before Steve talks again.  
  
“That’s not what I asked.”  
  
It’s a choice, it’s by design –Jared can’t let himself think about any other answer than that.  
  
It’s a few more seconds before Steve sighs in defeat, drops Jared’s phone on the counter, and leaves.  
  
Jared shoots a quick text to Colin,  _Are you okay?_  that will remain unanswered.  
  
Jared doesn’t have time to think about all the ways he screwed up – the alarm sounds.  
  
Fire. Everyone scrambles to their places.  
  
Jared’s almost grateful for the interruption it brings.  
  
  


~

 

This time it’s not a dream.  
  
It’s an old frame house, two stories and an attic, and flames are coming out the roof as the trucks screech around the corner. Hoses secure, teamwork without need for orders, ax to the front door, encompassing heat upon entering.  
  
The mother, by the engine, clutching one baby in her arms, is screaming that her toddler is still in the building.  
  
They hear. They search, quickly, efficiently. Jared pulls open closet doors, looking in the places a child thinks will be safe. They’re not, the only safety is outdoors, but children instinctively hide, not flee.  
  
The flaring light from the fire is increasing but its strobe-like quality makes checking the hiding spots harder.  
  
Aldis’ voice sounds out from the hallway, calm, but urgent, authoritative.  
  
“Jared! Hurry! We gotta go, the roof’s gonna give!”  
  
He can’t leave.  
  
“Jared! Now!”  
  
And he sees it,  _finally,_ a little foot sticking out from under the bed. Jared lifts the bedframe with one hand just enough to seize the tiny body with the other, and he bolts from the house with Aldis’ frantic order sounding in his ears.  
  
The child’s sobbing in his arms – alive.  
  
The cries are muffled, bitten off as he buries his head in Jared’s jacket, clings to him, shaking, hands clawing at his back.  
  
Jared doesn’t feel it.  
  
He shushes gently, he utters useless words, fills the deafening silence with worthless sound.  
  
Katie pries the child out of his arms, worried look in her beautiful blue eyes.  
  
Gen yells at him, gestures wildly, but he can’t think, can’t –  
  
Darkness is closing in on him, black spots dancing, flashing defiantly no matter how many times he blinks, and he’s floating, weightless, he could just fall –  
  
“ _Padalecki –_ fucking look at me!” Gen’s voice sounds, loud, determined, stubbornly, and Jared claws his way back,  _breathes,_ finally.  
  
She checks on him while Katie works on the kid.  
  
The boy’s stopped crying, and Jared still doesn’t feel a thing.  
  
  


~

 

Jared doesn’t remember if it’s been a long day or a long week.  
  
Hell, it could be years.  
  
He carefully deposits the food in the fridge, small Tupperware containers labeled  _Colin_ – Jared is insanely grateful Katie saved some of the food – it’s about the only peace offering his son responds to.  
  
Jared hopes he will this time, too.  
  
He doesn’t know what to do with one more day like the last few. The call,  _your son’s been in an accident_  – he’d swear his heart stopped and didn’t start to beat again until he’d seen Colin glaring at him from the ER bed. He would have taken care of Colin’s recovery – but the kid had just  grabbed the pharmacy bag from Jared’s hands, snarked  _I know how to take a pill, Dad_ , in a tone Jared knows all too well by now, and limped to his room, slamming the door behind him.  
  
So Colin didn’t want any coddling. That was alright. Jared knows how to do this, too. And no amount of relief at Colin being mostly okay can spare the kid the consequences. Jared tells him through the door that Colin will be taking the bus tomorrow, he is grounded for a month, and he will be expected to pay for the bike repairs with his summer job earnings.  
  
Pointless. That’s how it feels, talking to the door. But he has to do something.  
  
It feels like he’s a bystander, helpless, lost, watching a spectacular crash – and it goes against every fiber of his being, all that he was taught, everything that he is now – he wants, he  _needs_  to make it better, to help, to fix it.  
  
But he can’t.  
  
And it’s so hard to understand.  
  
It seems like Colin woke up angry one day, and has been that way ever since. Jared wishes he had words good enough to ask him why, but he doesn’t know the right ones and so he watches, tries to stay calm in the face of provocation until Colin pushes too far - and then Jared says other things instead, things that Colin uses with military precision when he yells them back in the middle of a fight.  
  
Jared wanted to tell Steve he’s tired.  
  
That he’s tired of arguing, tired of stepping into landmines time and time again, of everything just being _wrong –_ but he can’t. He doesn’t allow himself to say it, to think it – because the moment he does that, everything will come crashing down.  
  
He’ll give in, he’ll let himself truly feel, and then –  
  
Jared’s made it this far.  
  
He can do it.  
  
One more day. And then the one after that. Seconds, hours, one breath at a time.  
  
He realizes he’s still standing in the same spot, staring without seeing at the same point on the wall.  
  
He closes his eyes, but it doesn’t matter – it’s already dark.  
  
  


~

 

Jared stops to check on Colin before he leaves for his shift in the morning.  
  
He sees his son’s gangly legs twisted in the blankets, and in his sleep the permanent look of disdain Colin wears when awake is replaced by the vulnerable face of a little boy.  
  
Something settles in Jared’s chest, and for a brief second, for a moment that passes all too fast and leaves him with an empty feeling in the aftermath – he smiles.  
  
Small, genuine, full of love.  
  
It’s perfect.  
  
It aches, bone-deep pain that spreads, and it’s perfect – his son is safe, sound. His son is still the little guy that said “dada” and looked at Jared like he could touch the stars in the sky.  
  
But it’s not.  
  
It’s a reflection, splintered, broken, perfectly imperfect.  
  
Colin’s not that little guy. Colin is the stubborn, headstrong young man that gives Jared heart attacks on a daily basis, and makes no apologies for that. He’s a kid that’s hurting, and Jared wishes he could take that pain with a sweep of his hands, take it upon himself, if only he could see his son happy again.  
  
Smiling, carefree, genuine.  
  
He should be able to give him that. He should be able to find a way to make it right again. That’s his job.  
  
It’s hard to leave.  
  
He’d watch Colin sleeping, he’d get annoyed at the tattoo peeking out under his sleeve t-shirt where his arm is sneaking under the pillow – he’d watch, he’d be happy, because it’s the silent moments he has, where he can pretend he isn’t failing, like his world isn’t one wrong word, one heated fight away from crumbling.  
  
It’s hard to leave, but Jared does, and he hopes, like he does every day, that it’s not the last time he’ll see peace on his boy’s face.  
  


~

Jared drops by the hospital before his shift to check on the kid he had saved yesterday.  
  
It isn’t until after he reaches the nurse’s desk, staring at the bold, emblazoned letters on the wall that read _Columbia Medical Center_ that he realizes he’s looking forward to seeing the man with beautiful green eyes.  
  
 _Jensen_ , Jared thinks his name was.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO  
  
  
[Jensen]**  
  
  
“So, what are we reading today?”  
  
Jensen reaches for the stack of books and magazines on the nightstand, starts flipping through them.  
  
“Let’s see. We have …  _Guns and Ammo_.” Jensen snorts. “I see one of your Texas buddies dropped by.” He sets it aside, goes to the next one. A book, thick, bound – “Yeah, man, I don’t do Kafka.” He picks up the last book . “Or Nietzsche. Jesus Christ.”  
  
He eyes the man on the bed, frowns. “These people don’t know you at all, huh?”  
  
Jensen sighs, reaches for the side pocket of his gym bag. “You’re lucky you have me, you asshole.”  
  
He smiles as he grabs the worn-out, tattered copy of  _Winnetou,_ opens it at the marked page and starts to read. This is the part he loves. He gets lost in the story of the Apache and Old Shatterhand –so many times he’s read it, he almost knows it by heart.  
  
Jason loves it, too. It’s the last book he was reading. Jensen still remembers having to plead with Jason to turn off the bedside lamp.  
  
He smiles at the memory. Jason looked like a little kid, brown eyes wide and pleading for five more minutes.  
  
“So, the new job at Columbia is working out.”  
  
Jensen leans back in the chair, relaxes in the comfortable seat. Controlling, overbearing, mother-henning tendencies aside, one thing Jensen can’t fault Jason’s mother for is her love for her son. Which, in this case, means a private room in the city’s best facility, round-the-clock staffing, and comfortable seats. She’d offered Jensen the job. She’d hugged him, had cried, had begged Jensen to take it. Because Jensen loved Jason, and Jason needed that.  
  
Jensen was grateful. And he seriously considered it – what it would mean to be able to watch Jason with his own eyes. For weeks he’d been torn, paralyzed by shock over the way his life had been shattered and indecision about what to do. What’s right. What Jason needs. He’d almost agreed to take Mrs. Mann’s offer, take the position at the nursing home, except Chris kept fighting him on it, arguing for Jensen to use his god-damn medical knowledge to actually  _look_  at the reports, really read what they said about Jason’s prognosis.  
  
Jensen needed a fresh start, Chris said, or at least the illusion of one, and Chris being able to get him a job at Columbia, working alongside him – Jensen doesn’t even know now, what he would have done without it.  
  
It was hard to tell Jason’s mother that he was taking the job at Columbia. Not the one she’d offered at the long-term care facility as Jason’s private nurse.  
  
_Didn’t he love Jason?_  
  
He does.  
  
He did.  
  
She had hope. But Jensen, for his own sanity, has to move on.  
  
But he visits. And he talks. He fills a silence he knows won’t be shared ever again. Pointless, empty seconds that only comfort Jensen. It’s a routine, a conversation he carries by and with himself every time, thoughts unedited, unfiltered, disparate and senseless till Jensen voices them out loud.  
  
“Columbia’s nice. Decent people.” He shrugs, mischievous grin spreading over his lips. “Chris is still a dick.”  
  
Jensen drums a rhythmless beat with his finger on the handle of the seat. “He’s asking about you.”  
  
Which bothers Jensen. Strange, because Chris has always been like a brother to him. But Chris doesn’t know that Jensen is still seeing Jason every day.

  
“With your permission, Commander, I’ll keep telling him to fuck off.”  
  
There’s so many things Jensen remembers. Jason’s laugh when Jensen called him that.  
  
Despite himself, he waits for it, sometimes.  
  
It never comes.  
  
So Jensen talks some more. Tells Jason about the cases. The high. God, he loves what he does. Working in the ER – the pace, the crazy, the intensity – it’s exhausting. Exhilarating. Hard. And so worth it.  
  
He steals a glance at the clock – time has gone by. It’s easy to be here. When he’s not that desperate man, when there’s calm, acceptance – when he isn’t afraid of himself, of the screams that’ll break open when he watches helplessly as seconds pass by, seconds bound to irreversible stillness, to a merciless not-death unworthy of the man Jason was.  
  
He stands, picks up his gym bag. He’s so tired of saying goodbye.  
  
Jensen hovers a little before brushing a thumb over Jason’s cheek.  
  
He shouldn’t.  
  
He leans in, whispers words he’d heard so many times from Jason’s mouth. “See you on the other side.”  
  


 

~

 

It’s chaos.  
  
Or it would be, for anyone that doesn’t thrive on the challenge and stress like Jensen does.  
  
On any given day, there are gunshot wounds, things sticking out of people’s bodies, and sometimes limbs chopped off – and there’s sore throats, indigestion, drunks who try to pass for Santa Claus – it’s  _awesome._  
  
What there isn’t is, is a dull moment – and Jensen’s right there when the EMT’s of Station 51 roll in, in their usual hurry, but also with their usual calm.  
“Male, forties, took a nasty fall on a construction site. Stable for now, BP 120 over 80, but had to sedate him – he was disoriented, trashing around, and, well –“ the EMT gestures at the piece of rebar impaling the man in the shoulder, “We thought he’d still like to have his arm when he wakes up.”  
  
Jensen nods, “I’ll page Morgan.”  
  
It’s a response ingrained years in the making for Jensen from then on. He doesn’t even think about it, working alongside Chris and Murray – processing the patient, assessing the situation, vitals, starting an IV – even only four weeks together, they’re a well-oiled machine, and when Morgan arrives, everything is ready for him.  
  
Twenty minutes later, when Jensen exits the trauma room, with directions to start prepping the OR, he takes a moment to just breathe – to be glad he’d found somewhere where he fit in, where the only thing that mattered was doing his job – it’s a relief he didn’t know he could feel, a long-coming realization that he would be lost without all this, that it’s his improbable tether to sanity when all else crashes in.  
  
He’s just about to head on up when someone grabs his arm.  
  
One of the EMTs. Petite, dark-haired woman.  _Beautiful._  
  
“Jensen, right?"  
  
He nods, raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Gen. Genevieve. Jeff’s wife.” She smiles, one that surprises Jensen with how open and genuine it is.  
  
Right. He remembers. He’d seen her before – it’s inevitable, they’re the closest hospital from the 51 station – but, still, never quite had time to introduce himself, both running in opposite directions, focused on the job at hand.  
  
“Chris tells me you’re an old friend.” A grin plays at the corner of her lips.  
  
Jensen laughs. “We tolerate each other, yeah.” He searches her eyes. “Why?”  
  
“Well, the gang’s hanging at The General’s Pub this weekend. Steve’s being promoted to lieutenant, so we’re planning a little surprise. Thought you might like to join us.”  
  
Chris hadn’t told him. Bastard. He knew Jensen would have turned the invitation down without another thought.  
  
But Jensen couldn’t say no to those eyes.  
  
Also, Genevieve might be half his weight and height, but by the tight grip she has on his arm, Jensen would wager she could kick his ass.  
  
It isn’t like he wouldn’t like it. But his off-shift activities are sleep, Jason, basic survival skills like eating, cleaning and showering, and more sleep. And, nagging at the back of his mind, he’s not too proud to admit, is his encounter with Padalecki.  
  
There’s something there.  
  
_Something_ that Jensen can’t define. It isn’t the image of Padalecki’s long limbs, angular face or long fingers that’s burned into his mind. It’s the one of those broad shoulders retreating, standing tall – fading into the chaos around as Jensen watched Padalecki leave without so much as a goodbye.  
  
He smiles at Genevieve, just the slightest bit forced, and she beams up, satisfied.  
  
Yeah, some battles are lost before they’re even fought.  
  


 

~

 

“So, you’re going?”  
  
“Well, yeah, Ackles, I kinda like my balls where they are,” Chris mumbles while simultaneously trying to shove the last pieces of salad into his mouth.  
  
“Do I _need_  to come?”  
  
Chris just stares at him, eyebrow arched.  
  
Jensen sighs. He’d told Genevieve yes. And it was impossible that he’d  _not_  run into her at the hospital again.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“What’s got your panties in a twist, Ackles? Free booze, man.”  
  
And there was the ever valid logic of Murray, who’d been poking at the protein shake with his straw for the better part of the last ten minutes.  
  
Jensen glares at him. Murray just shrugs, gets up, and pats Jensen consolingly on the back before making his way out of the cafeteria.  
  
“It physically pains me to say this – but Chad’s right,” Chris says as he watches Murray’s retreating back. “What’s the deal? Way I remember, you’re always the first one for down a shot.”  
  
Jensen shrugs, doesn’t look at Chris when he answers. “Yeah, well, I’m not the same guy.”  
  
Chris snorts. “Really? Didn’t notice that.”  
  
It’s obvious – but Jensen doesn’t want to ask why Chris has resumed treating Jensen like that. Like he’s young, carefree, ready to take on the world again. He doesn’t even want to consider that Chris really thinks Jensen can be that kid again.  
  
There’s the silence of food being consumed until Jensen speaks again. He doesn’t know who’s more surprised at the honesty in in what he says – him or Chris.  
  
“I don’t know, man. It’s … fact is, I’m still trying to figure out what happens with my life.”  
  
“Look, Jensen. Let people help. Yeah, we’re all twisted and ranging from mildly disturbed to batshit insane and crazy as fuck, and I ain’t saying it’s not gonna get complicated – but we’re  _family,_ us guys here and the crew of 51. They get it. What we do. What we see. How to deal with that. They know. You don’t have to smile pretty, you don’t have to skip the shitty parts – they  _understand._ That’s something special. And the only thing each of us has.”  
  
Chris has been that guy for Jensen. Always. Dependable, trustworthy, the one who understands why Jensen does why he does. Why he loves it.  
  
“They mean that much?”  
  
Chris looks him straight in the eye when he answers.  
  
“Be there Saturday. You’ll understand.”  


 

~

 

So he goes.  
  
The bar is crowded, and it isn’t until he spots Steve and Chris’ smiling faces that he relaxes.  
  
It isn’t about them, or meeting new people. He loves that. One part of nursing he loves is hearing people’s stories. He listens, he talks – because he can, it’s in his power to make a horrible moment just a bit better, a little easier to understand, to cope with when he knows how debilitating it is to be on the other side.  
  
This …  _this_ seems important to his new life.  
  
One of those moments, maybe, where if he didn’t make himself move forward he’d look back someday and he’d wonder what would have happened. Jensen doesn’t want to take that chance.  
  
It’s easier to regret the things he does, not the  _should haves_.  
  
Jason is living proof of that.  
  
  


 

~

 

“Told ya.”  
  
“You did, oh wise one,” Jensen replies, wide grin spread over his face.  
  
He doesn’t know if it’s the beer, the company, the loud music, or all of the above, but Jensen feels … free. Untethered to the heavy weight of his own thoughts for the first time in a long time.  
  
He watches the crowd.  
  
“Huh. Didn’t know that Welling – that’s Welling, right?” he checks with the table and gets a nod, “Knew how to dance.”  
  
Danneel – Lieutenant Harris – pipes up. “Yeah, that’s a cry for help, not dancing.”  
  
Hodge nods in approval. “Tommy boy has all the grace of a mack truck.”  
  
Jensen’s still sticking to his guns. “He’s … trying?”  
  
Danneel, Aldis, and Chris look at him a long second, faces blank, before cracking up.  
  
“Give it up, man,” Hodge advises between giggles, “making fun of our very …  _talented_ friends is the rite of passage.”  
  
Jensen laughs. He hasn’t done that either, in a long time. Not like he meant it. Not without being afraid he’ll fall apart if he does.  
  


 

~

“This seat free?” someone asks as Jensen fiddles with the label of the beer bottle in his hand.  
  
He turns, and isn’t surprised to find Padalecki sliding in next to him in the booth. That voice – he doesn’t want to admit, not even to himself, how committed to memory that low rasp is. And Jensen’s been catching glimpses of him around the room all evening. Not that he was looking for him specifically. Not at all.  
Jensen has been surprisingly good at lying to himself recently.  
  
“I’d say no, but seems beside the point now.”  
  
He smiles around his answer – it’s not like Padalecki had waited for one.  
  
The firefighter laughs, slightest bit sheepish – and, God help Jensen – shy. Which,  _what._ Jensen really hopes it’s the beer he drank – though he doubts a bottle and a half would ever account for him finding Padalecki as attractive as he does.  
  
“How’s Colin?” Jensen asks, part because he’s genuinely interested, and part because if he doesn’t, he’ll stare creepily at Jared’s mouth an undetermined amount of time.  
  
Padalecki smiles easily, thanks the bartender, who places a glass of what looks like whiskey in front of Jared without any prompting, and turns slightly to Jensen, index finger tracing the rim of the glass.  
  
“Grounded.”  
  
Jensen chuckles. “Don’t approve of bikes?”  
  
Padalecki’s eyes flash dangerously, and Jensen finds the look disturbingly hot. “Oh, I approve. Just not for my son.”  
  
It takes a bit for Jensen to make the connection. “It was yours, wasn’t it? The bike?”  
  
Padalecki nods. “Haven’t ridden in a decade or so, but yeah.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
Padalecki arches an eyebrow.  
  
“Just didn’t take you for the motorcycle type,” Jensen defends.  
  
A slow grin spreads over Jared’s features. “Really? Then what  _did_ you take me for?”  
  
Well, fuck. Jensen hopes to stop digging before reaching all the way to China.  
  
Still, he’s not a man who backs down. “Redneck truck, maybe?”  
  
Jensen’s rewarded with Padalecki’s laugh.  
  
“Well, not sure about  _redneck,_ “ he allows, “but I do have a truck now that makes me feel more of a man.”  
  
Great. Padalecki’s making dick jokes. For a minute there, Jensen had actually stopped wondering if he’s proportional all over.  
  
Jensen decides to steer the conversation towards a safer track.  
  
“Can it be repaired?”  
  
Jared has no problem following the train of thought. He shakes his head. “No. It’s – it was pretty bad.” He stops, the briefest pause – and Jensen guesses, as minor as the actual injuries were, the memory is still hard to talk about. “Not sure I’d want to, anyway. Though I did tell Colin he was paying for the repairs out of his summer job …”  
  
Jensen nods in understanding, but stays silent. There’s more to it than that. And he isn’t going to get the answers in one night.  
  
Jared downs the contents of his glass, stands up.  
  
It’s Jensen’s turn to raise an eyebrow in question. “That fast?”  
  
Jared shrugs into his jacket. He looks good in jeans, too, Jensen muses absently. “This isn’t exactly – I just came for Steve.”  
  
Jensen doesn’t know if it’s the crowd, the new people, or just the way Padalecki is. But he believes it. Had seen it with his own eyes, how hard Jared had tried to fade into the background. He seemed genuinely happy for Steve, proud look in his eyes when he had hugged him after the congratulatory toast – but avoided groups, preferred to listen rather than talk. He was a littlemore engaged in one-on-ones, but there was always this faraway look in his eyes, something Jensen couldn’t identify – couldn’t put into words, even if he tried.  
  
Jensen says goodbye, watches as Jared makes eye contact with Steve and Chris, who both raise their beer to acknowledge him.  
  
Jared leaves, and Jensen realizes just how right Chris is.  


 

~

 

 

Days to come, Jensen thinks about the short conversation.  
  
It’s one of those things that seeps in unnoticed, that anchors itself in Jensen’s mind. Unbidden, almost unwilling – inflections, gestures,  _dimples_ etched into his thoughts.  
  
He’s attracted to Jared, that much he understands.  
  
What confuses him, though, is the wanting to know more about him part.  
  


 

~

 

Someone’s calling his name.  
  
Again.  
  
Fucking hell. He just closed his eyes.  
  
And if Chris dumps his puke cleaning duties on him on more time –  
  
“Chris, I swear to fucking God – oh. Hello.”  
  
Jensen raises his head from the pillow of his hands, it’s  _Morgan_. Jensen’s struck a little dumb. It isn’t like they haven’t met before – hell, it isn’t even like they haven’t spent hours together in the OR – but they haven’t really  _talked._  
  
Which is probably why Morgan looks so awkward. Poor guy looks like he’s facing a firing squad.  
  
 “Hey, Ackles.”  
  
It’s gruff, hastily thrown out, and Morgan practically shoves a coffee cup at Jensen. Guy has all the social grace of early caveman.  
  
_Nourishment. I got. Allies?_  
  
Jensen works hard to hide his grin behind the cup.  
  
“My wife tells me you’re gonna be a permanent fixture at these little shindigs now.” He shrugs, makes an all-encompassing gesture with his free hand. “Figured I’d introduce myself, since I missed Steve’s thing couple a weeks back.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“I mean, it was all my idea. Talking to you. Yeah.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
Morgan stops, studies Jensen for a moment – then huffs, turns around and walks away. “Mother of God, woman. Told her men don’t need the red carpet and the champagne, but no, I –“  
  
It makes Jensen want to laugh, because Morgan is a war vet, head of trauma, and all around impressive guy – but that doesn’t seem to matter much if the reason he came over is a feisty brunette that most probably threatened to bronze Morgan’s balls and hide them in the cookie jar if he didn’t welcome Jensen to their social circle properly.  
  
Whatever Morgan mumbles under his breath after that is lost in Jensen’s fit of laughter and the questioning glances of those around.  
  
Yeah, coming here was a good call, Jensen decides.  
  


 

~

 

“Met a few people in the last few weeks, man.”  
  
Jason stays silent, like he always does.  
  
“I’m still trying to work my head around it all, Jesus Christ.” Jensen shakes his head, smiles involuntarily. “Chris was right. They’re all crazy.”  
  
He plays with the hem of his scrubs, feet elevated, resting on the edge of Jason’s bed.  
  
“I mean, I don’t even know what to do sometimes. They’re just so …” Jensen searches for the right words, for something to convey the overwhelming feeling, the warmth that spreads through his chest every time he thinks about the last few months. “They’re all going out of their way, and I don’t have a clue what to do with that.”  
  
His hands expand in a frustrated gesture. “I mean, what do I say? How do I even –” He cuts off, leans forward, glares at his silent conversation partner.  
  
“You know what? This shit is your fault. Eight fucking years with your ugly mug screwed me up.”  
  
Jensen’s kind of joking. Kind of.  
  
But he can’t hide from himself, not in this room where the truth echoes, and weighs him down. He hid so much. The touches, the words, the little things they couldn’t be.  
  
People didn’t ask, they didn’t tell.  
  
They didn’t have friends.  
  
Jason had brothers in arms. Jensen had Jason, and nothing much beside that.  
  
And for the longest while, it was more than enough.  
  
But it left Jensen with scars he’s just now discovering he has.  
  
He sighs, leans back in the chair, closes his eyes.  
  
“Well, anyway, it isn’t like it matters now.” He pauses, tilts his lips in a small smile. “Bet you’d like Genevieve. She’s  _awesome_  ,“ Jensen gushes, because she  _is_ , she’s the tiny little drill sergeant that kicks their asses into gear every time.  
  
“And man, Lieutenant Harris … if ever there was an alternate universe where I didn’t like dick –“ he whistles, “But we’ve already established that’s not the case,” Jensen finishes with a sly grin.  
  
“You probably wouldn’t get along with the guys, though. They’re, dare I utter this blasphemy, more stubborn than you are.”  
  
That one would have gotten a pout and narrowed eyes. Jensen knows he’ll never see them again. He keeps his eyes closed, lets the silence lull him closer to the safe place of his dreams.  
  
“It’s good, though.”  
  
He yawns, “’s good, we’re medical professionals, there’s still hope we’ll find a cure for pig-headedness. I can hope at least, can’t I?”  
  
Jensen drifts off to sleep slowly, gradually, but before he can sort his thoughts – before he can figure out why he’s leaving out the really important stuff.

 

**[Jared]**

  
  
“No. Shit. I can’t do anything from this side,” Jared says, huffing out a frustrated breath.  
  
She whimpers, looks at Jared with wide, watery eyes.  
  
“Oh, no, no. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be alright,” he tries, voice pitched low, in what he hopes is a calming tone, “We’re going to get you out of here. This was just a small setback, alright?”  
  
She tries to focus on him, she does, but the voices, yelling orders, and machines coming to life, whirring and wheezing against the metal, high-pitched sound that ends in a screech – it’s just too much.  
  
Jared searches for her hand, takes it in his bigger ones. “Hey, hey – just look at me, okay? Trust me when I say we’re going to get you out of here.”  
  
Slowly, gradually, she relaxes – just a fraction, just enough that Jared’s sure she isn’t going to do more damage to herself, and she nods as much as the neck brace allows her, meets Jared’s gaze head-on, challenging, holding him to that promise.  
  
It’s all right. Jared trusts his team to do a good job.  
  
Problem is, now he’s kind of stuck himself. Not literally, not like the girl, whose legs are being crushed by the steering wheel – but something almost as claustrophobic for Jared, the anxiousness of handling this right making him break in a cold sweat, making him work consciously to keep breathing right. It’s the fact that he has to talk. That there’s no guideline. She could say anything, and Jared would be left scrambling for a comeback. He’s learned the standard stuff, what little there was in the manual – but it doesn’t even compare to this – it can’t, when there’s no warning inside about how a second can be the difference between life and death.  
  
That’s why he likes the straightforward stuff. Run in burning building, clear, get out. Cut, saw, claw your way to the injured people, get them out.  
  
This – even though he’s been on the job for a long time,  _this_ is the first time he’s not sure he can do it right. He knows, rationally, that it’s him bringing baggage and doubts from his personal life – but that doesn’t change it, he’s still about to gamble someone else’s life.  
  
He starts small. Honesty is his best plan, he decides.  
  
“Okay, let me tell you what’s happening now. Nothing to be afraid about, okay?” he adds as a particular loud crash makes her flinch, “I couldn’t do anything from this side of the car, the steering wheel is stuck – and that live wire”, he says as he points at the black cable dangling precariously just above the hood, “is a little bit of a problem for anything too big, any machinery. Now, they’re trying it from your side – but it’s going to take a little longer, they have to get the other car out of the way. They’re working on that right now. See?” he points at Steve, who’s directing the scene, calm, precise. ”He looks like he knows what he’s doing, right?” Jared jokes, and, to his surprise, she smiles, grateful, small.  
  
Jared maneuvers around to check her pulse again –  
  
“Oh God.” she says, startling Jared somewhat, “Oh my God.”  
  
“What – what?” he asks, searching for any change, any unseen injury besides the obvious.  
  
“This is a sign. This is a goddamned sign.”  
  
Jared watches, dumbstruck. All he can come up with again is, “ _What?_ ”  
  
She laughs, and Jared’s shocked to hear real humor in it.  
  
“Do you know where I was going this morning?”  
  
Jared shakes his head, waits. This is good. This is her being awake, conscious, coherent. Steve and the guys are already making progress, starting to move the car that had crashed into this one. It’s strange – there’s so much going on around – sound, bursts of it, loud cracks, metal, screeching, everything vibrating, humming with the force of it – and flashes, sparks, crackling, buzzing, a reminder for Jared that there isn’t a lot of time, that they have to move fast – but he and the woman are in their own little pocket of space.  
  
She continues, “I was going to quit my job.”  
  
She’s chuckling, tiny bit of a hysterical edge to it. Jared smiles in response.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
She nods, or tries to, as much as the neck brace allows her. “Oh God, yes. I had – have a whole speech prepared. I was going to go in, all badass, and tell them to stick it where the sun don’t shine.”  
  
Jared laughs, makes eye contact with Katie outside, who nods. She’s been talking him through the signs he should look out for since it looked like he was the one going to stay in the car with the young woman.  
  
It’s good. They’re good. He can do this. It’s going to be all right, he repeats to himself.  
  
“Didn’t like it anymore?”  
  
She snorts. “Understatement. I was  _miserable –_ telling people what to all day, nagging them – hell, I annoyed myself.”  
  
“I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad.”  
  
“Oh, you’d be surprised. But, you know, we do things because they need to be done. Only downfall is, you end up not liking yourself much.”  
  
Jared laughs derisively, answers without thought. “ _That_ I understand.”  
  
She raises an eyebrow. Jared fidgets a bit, keeps an eye on the cable that’s swaying just outside – he knows, it’s pointless, searching for the electrical substation for the block – by the time they manage to cut the power for both the high and low voltage wires, she’ll bleed out, go into shock, or any other number of things that would result, inevitably, in her death.  
  
He shrugs noncommittally. This is why he’s not the best person to do this.  
  
Maybe Katie, or surprisingly empathetic Mike – but not him.  
  
Still, he’s a little glad that it is him with the woman right now.  
  
The live wire is still very much in play, and better him than anyone else – which is the argument Jared presented to both EMTs when they insisted it should be them in the car.  
  
Which would have been the case if Jared hadn’t got caught up in all of it, in needing to reassure her. In needing it to end okay.  
  
She lets it go, picks up another thread of conversation. She’s a talker, Jared can tell – but it’s endearing – and, for his money, just goes to show how strong she is – beyond the initial freak-out, she hasn’t flinched.  
  
Not even when Tom starts cutting through the passenger side door, working on removing it. It’s loud, it must be fucking terrifying for her – but she just squeezes Jared’s hand harder, meets his gaze where he’s propped himself with his back to the dashboard and hangs on to him for dear life.  
  
She’s shaking a little, and she’s gotten more pale than Jared would like, but she’s still talking, she’s still making Jared laugh.  
  
“So. You got a girlfriend, handsome firefighter man? Come on, help a girl out.“ A trembling smile spreads over her lips.  
  
Tom is there, so close – it’s so loud. He tunes it out. Talks to help her do that, too.  
  
“No, I don’t.”  
  
“So you’re saying I have a shot? I mean, some other time, of course, preferably when I’m not wearing my entire circulatory system on the outside.”  
  
Jared smiles at her awkwardly. “Um. No?”  
  
She gawks at him. “You heartless man. It’s probably – literally – my last wish and you crush my hopes without a second thought,” she teases, but it’s without any heat. This is a game, and they both know why they’re playing it.  
  
“I – well,“ Jared stutters, because it’s a little more complicated than he wants to get into right now.  
  
“Oh. Oooh,” she interrupts, “I don’t have the right working parts, do I?”  
  
There’s a twinkle in her eye, and Jared prays – hopes this is one of the good ones. That this story has a happy ending. Because in all of the ten minutes Jared’s spent with her, she has wormed her way under Jared’s skin, with her tear-stained cheeks and wide grin.  
  
“I –” he tries, but finds the words get stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. Tom’s almost done, though, and she has to hang on – she has to – so Jared talks, hopes that it’s enough to tether her, to stop her from giving in to the blissful unconsciousness that wants to lure her in. “I had a fiancé, once. Sandy. She was going to be my wife.”  
  
She doesn’t say anything, just squeezes Jared’s hand, urges him to continue, and Jared has no fucking clue how she can do that, how she even think about someone else at the time.  
  
“She was – everything,” he stutters out, because he has no idea how to put it other than that. He wills himself to be strong, wills his voice not to break how it usually does in the rare times he talks about her. “But she’s been gone a long time. And I –”  
  
“You met someone,” she says, and Jared’s head snaps up, meets her eyes, surprised, because, really, he’s just now figuring it out. She tries to shrug – but it’s not even half a movement, given how restricted she is. “You have that look about you. Guilty. And like you’re trying hard to give yourself permission to be happy.”  
  
Jared’s saved from a response – not that he had any clue what to say to that, anyway – when the door from the passenger’s side is ripped out with a loud crash – and there’s a flurry of movement, voices, Katie, checking her over –  
  
It feels like Jared blinks, and she’s out of the car, out of his grasps, and Jared’s still sitting there, feeling the lingering warmth in his palms.  
  


 

~

 

Gen’s not yelling at him. Jared kind of wishes she would. The thousand yard stare she has going is pretty  scary, frankly.  
  
“Jared.”  
  
It’s a ploy. It’s too calm. “Yeah?” he replies cautiously.  
  
“Don’t ever fucking do that again.”  
  
Okay. That’s more like it. Still, Jared’s a little confused about what he did wrong.  
  
He leans against the side of the ambulance, looks Gen in the eye.  
  
She’s not relenting.  
  
“Do you even know how worried Steve was? All of us? That wire was inches away from the car –“  
  
“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that –“  
  
She looks ready to punch him. “I swear to God – “  
  
“Look, Gen. Someone had to go in. And I did because I thought I could get her free – not because of anything else.”  
  
“Then you shouldn’t have stayed.”  
  
That’s true, in a sense. There were a lot of people more qualified than him to have been in that spot.  
  
But he shakes his head. “I couldn’t leave her.”  
  
Gen studies him for a few long moments, and, finally, some of the tension in her tiny frame goes out, eyes softening, and she eases her white-knuckled grip on the ambulance door.  
  
“She says thank you, by the way. And she –“, Gen takes a moment to try and stifle a laugh, “she also says that her name is Alona and whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy.”  
  
Jared’s eyes are wide as saucers as Gen grins, entirely too self-satisfied.  
  
“Anything you want to tell me, Padalecki?”  
  
She slams the door shut, inches forward all the time, looking straight into Jared’s eyes.  
  
“ _Anything_ at all?”  
  
Jared would really like to run. Or hide.  
  
But before he can do either, Gen pats him on the arm consolingly, mutters something along the lines of _“Right, don’t worry, I got this”_  and spins on her heels, leaving Jared dumbfounded and alone in the garage.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**PART THREE**  
  
**[Jared]**  
  
  
Gen’s words start to make a terrifying amount of sense next Sunday, when Jared finds himself watching Steve, Aldis, and Mike while they shamelessly take over Jared’s house.  
  
Mike dumps two six packs on the table, Aldis deposits what is probably a whole shelf of chips from Kroger on Jared’s couch, and Steve just grins at Jared, all content and self-satisfied.  
  
Fuck his life.  
  
Jared closes the door behind him, shakes his head, and makes his way towards the living room.  
  
In an unsurprising turn of events, the TV has been turned on, sports commentators already debating chances, statistics, and generally talking out of their collective asses because you’d have better luck betting on a coin toss. Also unsurprisingly, Mike and Tom are already arguing over the remote.  
  
Steve closes in on him, and this time, he actually has the decency of looking half-sheepish.  
  
“You don’t mind a few more guys coming, right?” he asks with a grin, and, really, what is Jared going to say to that?  
  
It isn’t like Jared isn’t used to the guys inviting themselves over on a day off – the appeal of Jared’s house on game days is directly proportional to the number of inches of his TV screen.  
  
But it’s usually a pretty small affair, all in all – they know Jared’s the one who prefers being on his own. It’s habit, but it’s also genuine enjoyment of some quiet time – and, on rare occasions, opportunities to just talk, laugh, form memories with his son.  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Jared laughs, because he also has a suspicion about who exactly the mastermind for this impromptu party was.  
  
That is confirmed when Chris hollers a greeting from the hallway – okay, so Jared should really move the extra key from under the mat – and Jensen and Murray appear in his line of sight, followed by someone who Jared recognizes as Jeff Morgan, trauma surgeon at the hospital.  
  
Jared sighs.  
  
He’s going to kill Gen.  
  
Or, well, maybe leave Colin with her for a weekend as payback. Pretty much the same thing. All that teenage angst and moodiness with a dusting of slammed doors and screaming at the top of his lungs must be useful for something, Jared supposes.  
  


 

~

 

Jared stays for the game.  
  
He enjoys it, and, however much he likes his own company, he can’t deny, when they get together like this, it’s actually a lot of fun.  
  
He laughs at Mike and Murray, who engage in an increasingly existential discussion fueled by the pleasant alcohol buzz that always tricks you into thinking you’re smarter than you are. He steals a glance at Steve and Chris, pressed close together, ignoring the world around – and barely manages to hold back a chuckle when he catches a glimpse of the awkward standoff Jeff and Tom have going on.  
  
Thing is, Tom’s a candidate, Tom’s new to this, he’s still getting used to being part of it – and Jeff is, besides Jared, the guy who least participates in all of this – at least, voluntarily. It’s strange, since Gen is the glue to the whole group, Jared thinks.  
  
He gets up from the couch, leaves Aldis to his food coma, and heads for the kitchen to dispose of some of the empty dishes just laying around.  
  
Jared’s surprised to find Jensen there, leaning against the counter, empty bottle of beer in his hand.  
  
“Hiding?”  
  
Jensen looks up, startled, but his features easily slide into a smile when he realizes it’s Jared who asked. Something in Jared’s chest loosens at the sight, breath coming just a little bit too fast.  
  
“No, came to get a glass of water, since some of us have a shift first thing in the morning,“ he teases around the same beautiful smile,” but I got a little sidetracked,” Jensen finishes, pointing with the bottle at the panel full of photographs on the wall above the counter.  
  
_Oh._  
  
Jared forgets about that. Forgets in the same way he would anything else he knows like the back of his hand – the only real cognizance is in change – the rest is etched into his heart, burnt into his mind.  
  
Photos of Colin, of macaroon necklaces, big smiles and friendly waves.  _Sandy._ One photograph, clearly a professional one, the unique Army gray-green of her military uniform contrasting with her vivacious smile. There are pictures of Jared and Colin, smiling and affectionate, that seem like they’re from another life.  
  
“She was in the Army?” Jensen asks, but it’s quiet, almost a whisper, like he doesn’t really know if he has the right to ask that.  
  
He does. Jared doesn’t know when he had decided on that particular issue, but Jensen can ask. Jensen can ask because Jared wants to give him the answer.  
  
Jared makes a short stop to deposit the empty bowls he’s carrying into the sink, then chooses a spot next to Jensen – not too close, not too far – and mirrors Jensen’s position.  
  
“Field medic. Served two tours in Iraq after 9/11.”  
  
He’s proud. He can’t help it, even with how the things played out.  
  
Jensen nods, turns to meet Jared’s eyes. Jared’s stunned at the pain painted in shades of green, at the sadness in Jensen’s eyes.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
This. This is the part that’s hard. This is him admitting he failed, day in, and day out.  
  
“She didn’t get killed in action, Jensen. She came home, spent the better part of a year pretending everything was fine, then put a bullet in her head one night.”  
  
_Put a bullet in her head._  
  
Words, echoing in Jared’s mind, scratching, clawing at the memories.  
  
He finds it easier tell it in the clinical, straightforward route.  
  
And Jensen doesn’t flinch, doesn’t do anything else than listen to Jared, still meeting his eyes, like he knows, there aren’t any words, there isn’t any patch job that can make something like this all right.  
  
He doesn’t say,  _it wasn’t your fault._  
  
People did that. Those who fooled themselves thinking they knew Jared well enough.  
  
Jensen doesn’t comfort, doesn’t move an inch from his spot.  
  
Good. Jared’s so tired of the hugs, the physical contact – everyone wants to console him, to hug him, and he doesn’t know if he won’t shatter in a million pieces under the next touch.  
  
Even ten years later.  
  
“I think … sometimes they don’t come back to normal,” Jensen says after a while, his words breaking the sound of Mike in the living room, loudly explaining something entirely nonsensical to Murray. “Normal is something they found over there. They had to.  And it’s really hard to accept that. They’re here, but they’re still over there, most of the time, right?”  
  
Jensen’s right.  
  
Jensen  _understands._  
  
Jared isn’t sure he’s ready to hear why. He can hardly bear his own scars.  
  
And Jensen seems attuned to that, too, because he changes the subject. “So, where’s that hotheaded kid of yours this fine night?”  
  
It’s so far from subtle, and Jared can’t do anything else than be stupidly grateful for it.  
  
“With his grandparents. Her – Sandy’s parents. They were a big part of his life growing up, still are.” He shrugs. “I send him down to visit whenever he has a school break. These days, it’s the only place where he mellows down a bit.”  
  
“Honest to God, still can’t wrap my head around the fact you’re a father – that you have a seventeen-year-old son,” Jensen admits around a cautious grin.  
  
Jared’s startled into a laugh. “I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I’ll take it.”  
  
“It’s a compliment,” Jensen clarifies, then winces, “Though not a very smooth one at that.”  
  
Jared, despite himself, relaxes, and does what he never does – he talks.  
  
“Sometimes I can’t believe it, either. I feel like I fell asleep a dumb kid one night and woke up to the world shifting around me.”  
  
“It must have been pretty hard.”  
  
“It had its moments,” Jared shrugs.  
  
“You regret it?”  
  
It’s not malicious, or even burdened with an inflection, just curiosity in Jensen’s eyes.  
  
Jared answers honestly. “Yeah.”  
  
Jensen waits for him to continue, somehow knows there’s more to come.  
  
“Not Colin. Not him, not ever. But I was a dumb kid, and Sandy had dreams that didn’t include a family. We loved each other, but it wasn’t the right time.”  
Jensen nods, but otherwise stays silent.  
  
It’s a while till he speaks again, and Jared finds himself surprisingly comfortable in the silence.  
  
“For what it’s worth, I think Colin loves you very much – just doesn’t really know what to do with himself right now.”  
  
“Oh, I know he loves me. We’re just having trouble with the living with me part right now,” Jared grins, and takes a second to revel in Jensen’s laugh.

  
It’s the first time he’s been able to joke about Colin’s attitude in a long time.  
  


 

~

 

They talk.  
  
There, in the small kitchen, forgotten by and forgetting the rest of the people in the house.  
  
Jared doesn’t remember the last time where he felt this relaxed.  
  
He – he doesn’t itch, doesn’t want to run, hide inside himself until everybody inevitably gives up trying to talk with him.  
  
Jensen tells him the funnier stories of the ER – people calling the ambulance for indigestion and gas, drunks who tell tales of shooting stars in their soul, flickering bright – and Jared laughs, he laughs at all the appropriate moments, genuine and real, and it feels like he’s being ripped apart from the inside out.  
  


 

~

When he stops by the hospital on Tuesday, Jared tells himself he’s there to check on Alona.  
  
The theory doesn’t quite hold up when he feels his chest tightening, his palms starting to sweat once he catches sight of familiar broad shoulders and bright green eyes.  
  
Jensen’s talking to someone in the hallway – one of the doctors, but takes the time to steal a look at Jared, smiling wide, eyes crinkling in the corners – and Jared’s anxiety just rackets up a notch, because he has no idea what to do with that, with the realization that he  _wants._  
  
But life taught him that it isn’t enough.  
  
And, sooner or later, that’s all that’s left. Wishes, dreams, things that could never be.  
  


 

~

“Hey.”  
  
Jensen’s voice. It pulls him back.  
  
Jared’s lost, staring at the tiling on the waiting room floor.  
  
One, two, three, skip – then again. He doesn’t count. Counting’s pointless. There’s always more. But the repetition is unfailing. It calms him down.  
  
“Hi”, Jared rasps, and tries not to sound like he’d spent the last hour screaming himself hoarse.  
  
He didn’t. But it feels like he has.  
  
“You all right?”  
  
Jared doesn’t know. She’s dead. But she was fine. He isn’t. Jared doesn’t understand. She was laughing. She was saving Jared. She was squeezing Jared’s hand.  
  
He waited.  
  
He didn’t leave. He has hope, and that’s a dangerous thing. He knows he can’t be fixed.  
  
Jared nods, clears his throat.  
  
He feels something.  
  
Too much.  
  
Jensen’s hand, on his back. Warmth.  
  
He asks.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
She was fine yesterday. She was, Jared’s sure. He has a text from Chad that says that.  
  
But then again. He doesn’t have the best track record with that. Not when he’s covered in blood. His hands, his knees slipping on something wet, thick –  
This time he doesn’t scream.  
  
His hands are clean.  
  
And Jared’s still drowning in how helpless he feels.  
  
“Post-op complication,” Jensen says, and keeps rubbing soothing circles on Jared’s back, between his shoulder blades, just enough to remind Jared that he can’t break now. “Her body just couldn’t take it after everything that happened.” He pauses, offers as solace, “I ran the code. 5:45 AM.”  
  
Jensen was there. Jared doesn’t know why it comforts him to hear that.  
  
He nods, makes a move to get up. Jensen stops him.  
  
“You working today?”  
  
Jared works up the nerve to look him in the eye. “Yeah. Later.”  
  
“Go running before. Or to the gym. Do something to let it out. You’re angry, and you should be, because it isn’t fair, and she was young, and it wasn’t her fault, and any number of reasons that you’ll drive yourself insane if you think about.”  
  
Jared stares. Listens. Wonders what Jensen sees.  
  
He feels blown wide open, defenseless, weak.  
  
If he’d be inclined to the dramatic, broken.  
  
Jensen looks at him the same. And Jared doesn’t know if he can handle that.  
  
“Don’t go to the firehouse like this,” Jensen says, and after adds, “Please.”  
  
Jared wants to laugh. Why does Jensen care? He’s known Jared all of five months. This isn’t having a drink, watching a game, talking at a party.  
  
This is more, and Jared’s terrified of that.  
  
But Jensen just grips his wrist, squeezes, and it hurts just a bit less, fades to something dull, familiar.  
  
“Send me a text when you get off,” Jensen says, “Just for my peace of mind.”  
  
Jared won’t. There is already too much of him left in Jensen’s hands.  
  
  
**[Jensen]**

  
  
“So, Jason, see, my problem is, I have a type,” Jensen sighs, ”Specifically, stubborn idiots.”  
  
There’s no answer. Jensen doesn’t expect one. It’s one of the few perks in ranting about life to a coma patient.  
  
“Jared. Did I tell you about Jared? He didn’t call or text me like I asked. How fucking hard is it?  _Hi. Didn’t get killed because I’m angsting about someone I saved dying._ That’s all I asked. That’s all I want _._ Is that too much?”  
  
Yeah. Okay. So, Jensen might still be a little worried.  
  
Just a bit.  
  
Totally.  
  
 “I had to talk to Gen about it – to  _Gen_  - and let me tell you, that woman was entirely too happy when I told her why I called.” He pauses for a few beats. “She seems to think there’s something between us. Big gay love, I think she said.”  
  
Jensen winces, leans forward and rests his head on his hands.  
  
“I mean, there isn’t. There  _is_ something, I – don’t know. He’s –“  
  
Jensen stops, studies Jason’ pale, handsome – impassive face.  
  
“We should really talk about that, huh? What he is.”  
  
He scrubs a hand over his face. It’s been a long time coming. And Jensen has trouble justifying it as something other than selfish and self-serving.  
  
“Look, Jason … I – you know I always like to say things upfront. So this is the way I’m going to do this.” Jensen pauses, thinks. He doesn’t want to admit it to himself – but, in the end, this is about what kind of man he wants to be.  
  
“I love you.” But the words don’t bear the same meaning they have in the past. “I loved the man you were. The guy who dragged me running at 5 o’clock in the morning, the guy who made me pancakes afterwards, the guy you couldn’t get to shut up when he was excited about something.”  
  
God, this is hard.  
  
But it’s been two years like this. It can’t go on.  
  
Jensen talks, and, for the first time since he started doing this, it doesn’t bring any comfort.  
  
“You are not that man anymore,” Jensen says, and then laughs hollowly, slightest hysterical edge to it – it’s so obvious. Sunken cheeks, pale skin, so still.

  
“You’re this illusion. It’s nice to think, you could come back to me one day. But we both know, that’s not going to happen, don’t we?”  
  
Tears are welling up in his eyes, and Jensen resists the urge to wipe at them angrily, reaches for Jason’s hand instead.  
  
“This time it really is on the other side,” Jensen breathes, and he just stares, memories playing right before his eyes, good, bad, all the times he’d thought he’s spend a lifetime making more of them.  
  
But it’s shattered dream.  
  
Silence presses down oppressively, smothers, dissolves everything.  
  
Screams. Whispers. Worthless words. Pleads.  
  
_Nothing._  
  
That’s all this is.  
  
Jensen clears his throat, continues." I’m not giving up on life. I’m saying – I’m trying to be happy. I’ll still be coming. I’ll still be coming to watch how you disappear right in front of my eyes.”  
  
Jensen chuckles darkly. “Do you know, I always thought, you’d be blown up? In little, tiny pieces. For some reason in my twisted mind, that was the only way you couldn’t, wouldn’t come back to me. I’d have sworn everything – and then you come back like this, you asshole – so how the fuck do I do this? How am I not selfish for wanting something more? I had years with you. Of happy. How can I ever say I’m a good man if I can’t love you like this?”  
  
Jensen squeezes Jason’s hand.  
  
It hurts.  
  
He doesn’t care. He needs this.  
  
He gets up, leans in, close, breath ghosting over Jason’ lips.  
  
Droplets land softly on stubbly cheeks.  
  
Jensen kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, please.”  
  
He lingers, binds himself to the moment.  
  
The end of the line. A new beginning.  
  
Jensen leaves.  
  


 

~

 

Jared opens the door, dressed in jeans and a hoodie with the fire department insignia on it.  
  
He looks surprised to see Jensen.  
  
Jensen just raises the six pack of beer in greeting.  
  
Jared studies the scene for a moment, but a small, cautious smile spreads over his lips once he understands why Jensen is here.  
  
It’s the same thing that the guys do. Steve, Aldis. The team.  
  
They check on Jared. They find excuses, because it’s hard to help people that will never ask for it.  
  
It’s more for Jensen.  
  
But right now, he’s good with this.  
  
Jared motions towards the living room.  
  
“Come on in, me and Colin stopped fighting for five minutes, we’re watching a movie.”  
  
Jared doesn’t even realize how much that means to Jensen. Being included, no hesitation, instinctively.  
  
It gives Jensen hope.  
  
He has absolutely no illusions of it being easy. But he’s taking a chance. It’s worth it, if only for feeling like himself, for returning to a semblance of normal and healthy.  
  
Jensen watches Jared smiling at the funny scenes in the movie– dimples peeking out, eyes bright and – happy.  
  
Yeah, Jensen thinks, it’s definitely worth it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**PART FOUR**  
  
  
 **[Jensen]**  
  
  
That isn’t the start of anything.  
  
It was just the circumstances that excused something that Jensen wanted to do for a long time. Spending time with Jared comes like it had before that – mostly with the group, or simple after-shift visits to The General’s bar.  
  
But they are closer.  
  
They talk.  
  
About everything, about nothing.  
  
What is the start, Jensen feels, is Jared asking him if he’s coming to the monthly barbecue.  
  
Which he is. Because Chris will have his balls otherwise.  
  
But, point is, Jared cares enough to ask. Jared wants him there. And the question comes stuttered, with a small smile and Jared rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.  
  
Jensen smiles the whole day after that.  
  
  


~

  
  
“Chocolate. Always say chocolate. Double, triple, whatever. It’s always chocolate.”  
  
Jared shakes his head.  
  
“No, no, man. You do chocolate cake, cherry pie, and orange and lemon ice cream.”  
  
Jensen looks on, horrified.  
  
Jared continues, with a focus and intensity that kind of scare Jensen.  
  
“Or maybe clementine. Clementine is not sweet, Jensen. Which is perfect, because summer is hot. And when it’s hot –“  
  
It’s like a train crash.  
  
“Jensen?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Are you listening?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You’re not saying anything.”  
  
“Little bit preoccupied hatching my escape plan.”  
  
Jared smiles softly, indulgently. “Not liking chocolate all the time is not a sin against humanity, Jensen.”  
  
Jensen shakes his head.  
  
“Says the guy who drinks fruit smoothies at breakfast.”  
  
“They’re healthy!”  
  
Jensen snorts. Colin chooses that moment walk into the kitchen interrupting the very meaningful, important, eloquent discussion they’re having.  
  
Jensen takes advantage of the opportunity.  
  
“Hey, back me up here, kid. Chocolate, right?”  
  
“Always,” Colin says, no hesitation, as he walks towards the fridge.  
  
Jensen can’t quite stop the smug grin.  
  
“But – but – you love the mint ice cream,” Jared pleads.  
  
Colin nods while he opens the bottle of water he’s just gotten.  
  
“True. But I think Rocky Road is the greatest invention of humankind.”  
  
“But – “  
  
“Sorry, dad. Have to go with Nurse J on this one.”  
  
Jared glares at both of them for a while.  
  
“This is just part of the teen angst and rejection of authority thing you’ve got going on, right, son?”  
  
Colin raises an eyebrow.  
  
Jensen struggles to hold in the laugh.  
  
“Dad, you’re the only one who could eat your weight in candy at the great Movie Marathon and Junk Food Day of ’09 and not spend all night puking afterwards. So, no, you aren’t getting the moral high ground on this one.”  
  
Jared shudders. “Still can’t eat Twizzlers to this day.”  
  
Jensen almost chokes on the fruit-something juice Jared had served him – he told Jared the thing would do him in.  
  
“You don’t like Twizzlers?” he rasps out, still trying to process that.  
  
Jared looks at him, smiles and shrugs.  
  
Jensen drops his head in his hands.  
  
“It’s like I don’t even know who you are right now.”  
  
Colin pats Jared on the back before going back to his room, sandwich in hand.  
  
“Good going, dad. You traumatized the poor guy.”  
  
Jensen hides his grin in his hand, watches Jared scowling good-naturedly at his son.  
  
It amazes him, the things he discovers about Jared every day.  
  
And Jensen still kind of really likes him, weird taste in ice cream aside.  
  
  


~

_Look what we did today._  
  
Jensen most definitely doesn’t coo, aww, or smile so big it hurts his jaw.  
  
No. Of course not.  
  
Because Jared in full gear, holding a kitten in the crook of his arms, fingers brushing over her furry head, and smiling softly down at her is not cute at all.  
  
And Jensen doesn’t save a picture of it for later viewing.  
  
Not at all.  
  
“Aww, sweetie,” the elder lady whose fingers he’s currently splinting says, and Jensen proceeds to stare the bandage into submission till he feels the blush in his cheeks go away while the woman elaborates on Jared’s heroism in rescuing her Taffy.  
  
Damn Jared and his job. Who saves kittens from trees for a living in real life, anyway?  
  
  


~

“Ow. Ow. OW.”  
  
Jared giggles. Jensen punches him lightly in the shoulder. Or, well, in Jared’s general direction, anyway.  
  
“It’s not funny.”  
  
“The power goes out, you walk into a cupboard, even though, might I mention, it’s your house –“  
  
“I’m looking for candles!” Jensen splutters indignantly.  
  
He can tell Jared’s trying really hard not to laugh. He tries a nudge to his elbow this time.  
  
“Okay, why don’t you stand still and tell me where to look, Jensen? I have my phone to use as a light. Because I’m smart like that.”  
  
Jared’s voice is deep, a little rough, laced with humor that Jensen’s learned Jared has in spades. He doesn’t know why, but it had come as a bit of a surprise.  
“Drawer to your left. There should be a flashlight in there, too.”  
  
There’s some rustling, and then Jared’s triumphant sound of success shortly after.  
  
“Okay. Flashlight. Got it. And – what feels like an entire arsenal of candles and matches.”  
  
Jensen shrugs.  
  
“Always be prepared.”  
  
Jared turns the flashlight on just in time for Jensen to catch the bemused expression on his face.  
  
“Picked the habit up from my last boyf –“ Jensen begins, but cuts himself off when he sees Jared’s beautiful features twist, freeze. “Jared, what?”  
  
Jared’s not listening. Jared’s looking at him, just staring blankly, and Jensen’s really starting to get worried, when Jared says, “You’re bleeding.”  
  
“What?”  
  
He raises a hand to dab at the sore spot on his forehead, and sure enough, it comes away bloody.  
  
“Oh. That.”  
  
Tthat’s all it takes for Jared to spring into motion, thrusting the flashlight into Jensen’s hands, and quickly wetting a towel and bringing it to Jensen’s forehead.  
Jensen’s just about to protest that he’s fine, when he finds himself with all 6’4 of Jared, all muscle, hard planes and warmth pressed close to him, deft fingers tracing softly over the gash, wiping away the blood.  
  
“Okay, it’s not deep, just kind of grazed you. Shit. I –“  
  
“Head wounds bleed a lot.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Jensen feels Jared breathing just a little too fast against him, and he puts a hand on Jared’s waist to steady him, but he doesn’t have any words right now, he can’t really think, all he feels is own heartbeat ringing in his ears –  
  
Jared looks down at him, eyes soft, still worried, but filled with so much –  
  
Jared kisses him.  
  
Slow, unhurried, first just a press of his lips, before Jensen’s brain catches up, before his body has time to react. But then – it’s not fireworks.  
  
Fireworks would be too loud.  
  
Jared just melts into him, presses Jensen into the counter, tracing the inside of Jensen’s mouth with his tongue, leaving Jensen gasping for breath, hoping it doesn’t end.  
  
It’s fire, burning hot.  
  
Jared pulls back, smiles, and Jensen knows, nothing’s going to be the same after that.  
  
  


~

Jared kisses like he has all the time in the world, until he doesn’t, until it turns rough, desperate, uncontrolled, frantic –  
  
Someone coughs, clears their throat none too subtly.  
  
Jared looks dazed when they part, lips shiny and puffy red – and Jensen has trouble with his train of thought for a moment.  
  
Jared comes back, slowly, gradually – seems to realize where they are. Then blushes, ducks his head, and a whole other kind of warmth spreads through Jensen.  
  
Gen and Katie snicker somewhere in the background, while the guys catcall and whistle and attract all the attention of the people in the bar to their booth.  
Jensen doesn’t care. He doesn’t see anything other than Jared. He doesn’t  _feel_ anything but him.  
  
Jared’s hand on his knee, heated imprint that spreads, sends sparks traveling up Jensen’s spine – possessive, an assurance of Jensen’s presence and a claim, because Jared, to Jensen’s surprise, doesn’t hide.  
  
It doesn’t come easy – Jensen still catches him with a hand hovering midair, wondering if he can touch – but all it takes is Jensen reaching back for Jared to give in – he  _can_ , Jensen wants, this is more than that.  
  
The smallest gestures, the most insignificant things – Jared kisses Jensen’s knuckles, holds his hand on the street, grins, wide, unrestrained, genuine when he sees Jensen, calls just to check on him after a long shift – and it’s strange, because he’d expected Jared to be passive, to give in to fear, and a past that’s still following him.  
  
But Jared’s there, every step of the way – proves to Jensen just how much when he tells Colin before anyone else – calm, convinced, without faltering, and it takes Jensen’s breath away, because he knows how hard it was, how much Colin’s acceptance means to him – he could read all the signs, Jared’s hands shaking just a bit in his own, the worry in his eyes – but he doesn’t let his son see.  
  
He talks, he asks, and Colin just shrugs, throws out a generic reply, that  _it’s fine by him_ , but stops by the hospital the next day, corners Jensen and tells him exactly what he’s planning to do if something goes wrong, if Jensen ever hurts his dad.  
  
Jensen never wants to. But he will. Inevitably, there will be times when they’ll hurt each other, and maybe Colin was right that first day, too, and Jensen might be a little crazy, because he doesn’t mind – this is more. This is something that can stand that, it’s stronger than seconds, minutes, days unanchored in time – it’s bigger than that. It’s trust built out of familiarity, and it isn’t love – not yet, not right now – just a comforting thought, a knowledge that whatever happens, that if forever isn’t in the cards – it will be in his mind, a forever etched permanently in Jared’s dimples and his laugh.  
  
Jensen puts his hand over Jared’s on his knee, threads his fingers through Jared’s – and Jared doesn’t look at him, just squeezes back, and they go back to normal, to a normal that’s been redefined, to something that actually resembles happy, if Jensen ever knew something about that.  
  
  


~

Jensen tells Jared about Jason, of course.  
  
They’re sitting on the couch, Jensen’s head in Jared’s lap, long fingers threading through his hair, just a hint of fingernails grazing at the scalp, and it’s good, it’s so good, because all Jensen can feel in that moment is warmth, comfort. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he feels like he’s worth it, like there’s someone who might give back as much as Jensen craves, who might match Jensen’s intensity and complement his thoughts.  
  
Jason hadn’t done that. It hurts, admitting it to himself – that Jason, brave, unafraid, superhuman – had flaws. That he was a man limited by his choices, by his ingrained ability to follow the chain of command, a fallible man that couldn’t get past, couldn’t understand anything other than the military way of life – even when Jensen asked.  
  
He shouldn’t have – or shouldn’t have had to. But it doesn’t matter much, because Jason is the past, and imperfect as it might have been, it was still almost eight years of good in Jensen’s life, years that shaped him, years he wouldn’t trade for anything.  
  
He tells that much to Jared, lulled into a cadence by Jared’s talented hands.  
  
Jared listens, doesn’t say anything until Jensen’s done, until Jensen reaches a point where he can’t talk anymore, exhausted by the swirl of emotion brought by the memories that come back unwittingly.  
  
“It’s a good story,” Jensen whispers, eyes closed, lost for the briefest memory in the movie playing under his eyelids, “just not a happy one.”  
  
Jared nods, because he knows, because all they can do in the face of loss is find the little they gained from it – the strength, the knowledge they can survive, even when their worlds are splintered apart, when it hurts so bad, they don’t know if they’re going to make it on the other side.  
  
There are scars. Jensen’s discovering them on himself as he goes along, things he’d never thought anchored themselves into his mind.  
  
Jared’s are older, ridged and faded – he’s learned to live with them, accept them from what they are, and he teaches Jensen how to do that, too, he proves to Jensen every day that he’s not defined by all the wrong, the unfair, all the things that happened to him – they’re just a part of him. A fragment shattered, that rounds out the whole to a little rougher, that builds it back a bit broken, inevitably – but he will go on.  
  
Jared doesn’t say much. He offers an “I’m sorry” that Jensen didn’t even know he needed, because all this time, he’d lived with a present burdened by the past – he’d known all this time, Jason was gone, but that was his mind, and Jared’s words are for his heart, mending unconsciously.  
  
Jared doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t let Jensen leave his house either, that night.  
  
He drags him into his bed, and maybe it’s a strange thing to do for a first time, but Jared understands enough to know Jensen’s worn out, that all he wants is to wake up to a new day, one that’ll be easier in the aftermath – so all Jared does is pull Jensen into his arms, kiss his temple, and whisper a good night.  
  
Jensen wakes up to Jared’s hands still on his waist, sleeping softly, beautiful features marred by a slight frown.  
  
Jared hadn’t let go all night.  
  
  


~

“Come on, Padalecki, what are you doing? I’m beating your ass without even trying,” Jensen shouts from the top of the small hill he’s just run up.  
  
“I’m trying not to tire myself out after the first ten minutes” Jared says as he jogs up to him, looking entirely too smug for Jensen’s taste.  
  
“Yeah, I call bullshit.”  
  
“Don’t believe I can cut it, huh?”  
  
“Well, if the humongous shoe fits …”  
  
Jared studies him for a moment. “Race you to the finish line?”  
  
“The statue?” Jensen considers, knowing that’s where they start and finish their morning – sometimes afternoon, or evening – runs in the park.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Jared beams at him, satisfied. There’s a competitive edge between them that Jensen quite likes. It makes everything more interesting.  
  
“On three?” he asks, and Jensen nods.  
  
“Okay then. One –“  
  
But Jared doesn’t get any further than that, because Jensen pulls the beanie with  _51_ insignia over Jared’s eyes, and takes off to a sprint.  
  
He hears Jared cursing, and he laughs, just because he can.  
  
There are days like this, when the sun shines and everything’s fine.  
  
  


~

Jared tilts his head back, mouth open in a soft gasp, and melts into the mattress, pulling Jensen with him magnetically, following the taste of his lips, the feel of hard, lean muscle pressed against his body – and Jensen traces a path downwards with his tongue, brushes his lips against the curve of Jared’s jaw, his pulse point, and further down his chest, only to find the rough material of a denim button-down standing in his way.  
  
“Off,” Jensen orders, a bit breathless, and Jared looks at him, cheeks flushed, pupils blown, breathing hard –  
  
Jensen groans, tugs at the shirt, fingers curled in the material, on the verge of just ripping it apart – but Jared comes back to himself, just a little, fingers skittering along Jensen’s torso as Jared’s hands slide down, palms spread over his back.  
  
He shudders, chills racing down his spine, and he can tell Jared feels it, because his hands stutter for a moment – he meets Jensen’s gaze, and swallows hard – it’s reaction and response, because Jensen can feel Jared’s heartbeat speed up under his own palm spread over Jared’s chest – it’s nothing he’s ever felt before, not this  _need_ , overwhelming, devastating –  
  
Jared bats his hands away, finally,  _finally_ manages to get the shirt off, thumbing at the buttons quickly, efficiently, and there’s just miles of tan skin, canvas for Jensen’s taking, but Jared’s not done, he tugs at Jensen’s shirt, too, makes some unintelligible sound that Jensen immediately translates as “get this off, now”, and Jensen gets with the program before Jared even has time to try again – he’s rewarded with a growl, and Jared twisting them around, switching their positions in the time it takes Jensen to blink.  
  
Jared’s leaning over him now, arms bracketing Jensen, muscles bunching with the effort to keep him upright – Jensen fights to get enough air into his lungs when Jared leans down, takes a nipple into his mouth, sucks, lets his teeth graze the sensitive skin afterwards.  
  
“Oh God,” Jensen voice cracks, splinters along with any coherent though when Jared begins unbuttoning his jeans, slow, teasing, while he drives Jensen crazy with his mouth.  
  
And then there’s Jared huge, talented hand on his cock, and Jensen’s done, jolt of electricity running through him, making him arch his back – he can’t – he can’t take the hot glide, the way Jared strokes his thumb over the tip, the shaky sounds that wrenches out of Jensen – but Jared knows exactly what he’s doing, because he doesn’t let him come, keeps his touch light enough that it brings Jensen to the brink only to pull him back.  
  
Jensen fists a hand in Jared’s hair, tugs, hard, rough, till Jared comes back up, kisses Jensen at the end of a growl – rough swipes of his tongue – and all Jensen can do is hang on, scratch with blunt fingernails at Jared’s back, because he’s so close to pleading,  _more, he needs more, ohgod_ –  
  
Jared understands, like he always does, and a few strokes it’s all it takes for Jensen to come hard, falling, finally  _falling,_ eyes closed, moaning brokenly, sound swallowed by Jared’s mouth, body trembling, cock spurting pearly beads of come all over Jared’s hand.  
  
Jared breaks the kiss, pulls back just enough to watch Jensen, a calm, composed,  _hungry_  look in his eyes as Jensen’s body vibrates with the aftershocks, breaths punched out of him with the force of it – Jensen has no idea how Jared can look like that, so controlled, when Jensen feels like he’s breaking apart at the seams.  
  
“Good?” Jared rasps out, smile playing at his lips.  
  
And Jensen doesn’t know how to answer, only part of the reason being the lack of brain function after that orgasm. Jared doesn’t seek validation, or praise – just checks with Jensen if he enjoyed that, and well,  _duh_ , but what bothers Jensen is that every time he tries to reciprocate he’s shot down.  
  
There have been handjobs and the occasional blowjob – but it was all quick, rushed, partly because of their schedule, partly because this is the one thing that Jared seems to be struggling with in this relationship.  
  
Taking control seems to be a default setting for him when things get as intense as they did tonight – Jensen thinks he’s afraid. But he asks, anyway.  
  
 “Why do you do that?  
  
And, right on cue, Jared’s expression shuts off.  
  
“Do what?”  
  
Jensen just looks at him, because they both know what Jensen is talking about.  
  
Jared sighs, rolls off Jensen and starts to get up.  
  
“We’re not doing this now.”  
  
And with that, Jensen’s left to stare at the muscles shifting in his back while Jared sheds the last of his clothes, heads for the shower.  
  
It’s okay, though.  
  
Jensen hadn’t expected an answer. This isn’t something that he’ll solve with a few words, with a conversation, or a speech. This is Jared, fighting with himself.  
  
So Jensen will ask again.  
  
He’ll be there when Jared will trust him enough to let go of everything, and just  _be_ , fall apart under Jensen’s hands, when he’ll trust Jensen enough to let himself believe in what they are.  
  
Because he will. Time. Jensen swears that’s all Jared needs.  
  
  


~

It’s slow, gradual, and sometimes it seems like it’s not happening at all.  
  
But then, there’s moments like this, when Jensen gets a peek behind the curtain , and maybe it’s the glass of whiskey Jared just downed, maybe it’s the fact that he’s starting to trust the idea that Jensen cares about him, that he’s not going anywhere – but Jared  _talks,_ and he doesn’t say  _I’m fine,_ he doesn’t say the million other platitudes he’s continually offering.  
  
 _It’s okay._  
  
 _It’s nothing._  
  
 _I’m good._  
  
“Colin’s enlisting,” Jared declares, and pours himself another shot.  
  
They’re having a quiet night in, a dinner cooked by Jared spread out on the kitchen table, and nothing had clued Jensen in about this being anything special or out of the ordinary.  
  
But it is. Because Jared never starts conversations. He joins in, he listens, but never starts.  
  
Jared doesn’t tell if he’s not asked.  
  
Even then, it’s a roll of the dice.  
  
So Jensen puts his fork down, swallows, and comes up with the most eloquent reply the sudden turn of events had left him with.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Colin’s joining the Army,” Jared says, inflectionless, searching for answers at the bottom of the glass.  
  
“Since when?”  
  
Jared smiles ruefully, meets his eyes.  
  
“You remember that day when we first met?”  
  
Jensen nods, because of course he does, but he doesn’t quite get where Jared’s going with this train of thought.  
  
“That’s what we were fighting about. He’d told me the night before, and –“ Jared stops, leans back in the chair, scrubs a hand over his face, ”We had a huge fight. I said some things I shouldn’t have. But he told me he wanted to be like his mom, you know?”  
  
Jensen keeps silent – he hardly thinks it’s a question meant to have a reply. Frankly, he’s a little scared not to break the moment, miss the chance.  
  
“And what could I say to that? All I remember is –“ Jared cuts himself off, voice cracking, but after a few stuttered breathes, pushes on, not looking at Jensen, but studying his hands, eyes cold, far off, “Blood. All I remember is blood. On my hands, on the wall …she didn’t look like Sandy. She didn’t look like  _anything._ It’s – like it happened to someone else. I wasn’t there. But I was. I remember the phone in my hands. I can’t remember if I closed her eyes.”  
  
It hurts, seeing Jared like this. Reliving it.  
  
But maybe he needs it.  
  
Jared’s head snaps up, meets Jensen’s eyes again. The look painted in shades of green and gold is hollow, vacant, haunted.  
  
“So he tells me that, and all I can see is someone handing me another flag, all I can hear is those gunshots – the Honor Guard.”  
  
Jared shrugs. “But that’s on me. I can’t – he could have turned out so much more screwed up than he is, having me as a father. But he’s doing this – and what can I say to that? What kind of parent would I be if I put my burden on him? But I want to. God, I want to keep him home, I want him to be safe, I want him to be where I can see him, because I don’t know what I’d do if –“  
  
But that’s all that Jared has – he chokes on the last word, breaths in, one, two, three – but can’t seem to get it right, so he tries again – and Jensen’s done, done being a passive audience, so he reaches across the table, takes Jared’s hand in both of his.  
  
“You’re okay. Everything’s alright. Come on, breathe with me.”  
  
And Jared does. Jensen can see when the blind panic slides into Jared’s ever-present anxiety.  
  
He looks up, grateful, but the next thing Jared says makes Jensen freeze.  
  
“He’s shipping off to boot camp in two weeks.”  
  
God damn it. It’s not only Jared he’s come to care about. It’s the stubborn kid, too, and Jensen’s surprised with his own reaction to this.  
  
He’s worried, he’s pissed, he’s proud, he’s all the things Jensen guesses Jared feels, multiplied.  
  
He shifts closer, squeezes Jared’s hand again.  
  
“We’ll get through this.”  
  
That’s all Jensen has. But it’s the truth, and Jared must feel it, because he looks up, gives a watery laugh.  
  
“Yeah, then a little bit more convinced, “Yeah, we will.”  
  
Jensen pauses for a moment.  
  
“Have you talked to Colin about all this?”  
  
 Jared shakes his head. “I – I tried. But I always end up saying the wrong thing.”  
  
Yeah, Jared might not be the best communicator in recent history, but that’s not what this is. And sure enough, when Jared continues, he’s proven right.  
  
“I don’t – I mean, I talk, but that’s what I did with Sandy, too. I talked to her every night for six months, sat with her, begged her to let me in, but that hasn’t worked, right?” Jared chuckles darkly, “If that doesn’t prove I’m not good at it ...”  
  
“Jared, sometimes … sometimes it isn’t about you being able to help them. It’s about them being able to help themselves.”  
  
Jared shakes his head. He feels guilty. Powerless. Jensen understands.  
  
“Jason – I told you he was a NAVY Seal, right? He’d come back from missions so screwed up, he couldn’t function right. Didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, one minute he told me he loved me, and then the next he was punching a hole in the wall because the coffee was too hot – and all I could do, Jared, was watch. Be there for him. Call one of his buddies that – that had seen the same shit, that would understand him when things got too bad.”  
  
Jensen inhales sharply, because he knows, rationally, that it’s not his fault, but it’s harder than he thought, actually accepting it.  
  
“It took me a long time to get that I couldn’t fix him. That I couldn’t make it all go away, no matter how hard I tried. That he didn’t need to get fixed – that he was the man he was because and despite of all the things he’d done, and I loved him.”  
  
Jensen urges Jared to look at him. “It’ll never go away, that feeling that you could have done something. You just learn to live with it.”  
  
It takes a long time, it feels like an endless standstill, and Jensen wonders if he said the wrong thing, when Jared nods, reluctantly, because this can’t get fixed, either, so quick – he takes his hand out of Jensen’s and things get back to normal, but not really, because Jensen has enough courage, trust to ask about Sandy now, to ask about all the good things, and maybe enough power to heal some of it.  
  
Jensen learns where Colin gets his stubborn streak – how Sandy had juggled school, a son, and then training, all out of sheer power of will to accomplish her dream. Jared’s proud, but there’s pain in his voice, too, because no matter how much he’d admired and loved Sandy, it didn’t change the fact that she left him alone with an eight-year-old kid.  
  
It’s hard not to see it as a personal failure, Jensen understands.  
  
Jensen learns a lot of things.  
  
Not all of them that night, but enough to feel like Jared’s finally letting him in.


	5. Chapter 5

**PART FIVE  
**  
  
**[Jared]**  
  
  
Jared’s falling.  
  
Floating.  
  
Seconds, moments, an eternity suspended. He’s nothing. He’s weightless.  
  
He stares at the burning ceiling.  
  
Flames dance, flicker, try to reach after him.  
  
They’re far. Too far.  
  
Breaths. Too loud. Inside his mask. He shouldn’t be hearing.  
  
Screams.  
  
Not the woman in apartment 4B. They’d saved her. Right?  
  
Everything’s fuzzy.  
  
Someone’s calling his name.  
  
But Jared’s falling. He’s nothing.  
  
Can’t they see?  
  
Pain, and then Jared feels nothing at all.  
  
  
**[Jensen]**  
  
  
Jensen knows. He knows the moment he sees Steve, dirty, grim, Gen, tears in her eyes standing outside in the hallway.  
  
He’s just starting his shift.  
  
Jensen can’t move, doesn’t want to, he’s afraid of what they will tell him.  
  
He just stops,  _breathing, existing,_ and Chris barrels into him.  
  
He protests.  
  
Chris’ voice. Familiar, indistinct.  
  
The world’s fading out of focus, just the horrifying thoughts, swallowing him, until –  
  
Colin.  
  
Colin’s there.  
  
He looks lost, scared, like a little kid.  
  
Jensen springs into motion as soon as he sees him. It’s instinct. He has no idea how he finds himself in front of Colin, and the next moment, hugging, clinging to him.  
  
Colin, big, tough kid, holds just as tight, and Jensen closes his eyes, breathes deep –  
  
He can do this.  
  
He lets go, reluctantly, only to be met with Steve’s pained expression, and Jensen thinks again, forces himself to swallow the bile in his throat.  
  
The floor gave out from under Jared, Steve says, and Jensen wants to cry, scream, and kick, because this shouldn’t be happening, it  _can’t_ be.  
  
“He’s alive,” Gen says, and Jensen’s knees threaten to give out from underneath him, only he wills himself to listen,  _think_ , “But he was unconscious at the scene. Head trauma. Biggest worry is spinal injury and internal bleeding.”  
  
He knows. He’s a medical professional.  
  
Only, it doesn’t feel like that right now, he’s just a man whose world is crumbling around him.  
  
Colin speaks, and it’s so naïve, so hopeful, so scared, “Is he going to be okay?”  
  
Jensen snaps into gear at the tone, switches to words he’s said so many times, he’s not even sure of their meaning.  
  
“They’re doing everything they can, kid. We’ll just have to wait and see, all right?”  
  
Colin nods, just a bit reluctantly, but he’s back to the soldier he wants to be – determined, brave even when he’s scared shitless.  
  
It must be hours. Not minutes. Decades. It’s endless.  
  
He feels everything.  
  
He can’t think.  
  
The guys come, one by one, Aldis, Tom, Mike, and then Katie, Danneel – everyone’s there, full gear, cleaned up, but that’s about it – they came straight from the job, as soon as they wrapped it up, and in that moment, Jensen wishes Jared would see, would understand just how many people care about him, and he would fight to come back to them, to him.  
  
Chris checks on him. Murray drops by to let Jensen know he’s covering his shift, tells him to stay strong, and other insignificant platitudes that inexplicably comfort Jensen.  
  
Morgan exits the trauma room – and Jensen tries to read him, tries to prepare for it –  
  
“We’re prepping him for surgery. He’s got some internal bleeding, a broken collarbone, third-degree burns on his hands and legs, and his lungs are in pretty bad shape because of the prolonged smoke inhalation. That’s the bad news. Good news is the head wound is relatively minor.”  
  
Morgan is clinical, patient, clear and concise in his explanations – and Jensen listens until he can’t anymore, until he’s run all the scenarios through his head. He nods, but doesn’t really see, just starts walking, and somebody calls after him, but he needs air, he needs to breathe –  
  
Chris finds him on the roof, shaky fingers curled around an unlit cigarette, because he doesn’t have a lighter - because everything’s wrong, and he doesn’t know what to do, not again, not when he was something resembling happy.  
  
They stay there for a while, Chris as silent as he’s never been, and it’s a bit of hysterical laughter that’s bubbling inside him, because Jensen thought he’d lived through the worst that could happen.  
  
He’s angry.  
  
At Jared, at the world, at everything.  
  
He’s desperate.  
  
He’s calm. He’s done this before once.  
  
The sun’s setting.  
  
It’s fitting, he thinks.  
  


 

~

Jared is pale.  
  
He’s covered in casts, in bandages – white.  
  
White of the sheets. The walls.  
  
Jensen sinks into the chair next to the bed, lets the rhythmic beeping of the machines wash over him.  
  


 

~

 

“I knew something like this would happen,” Colin says from the other side of the room, mirror position to Jensen’s.  
  
“It was an accident.”  
  
“Could have been anyone, Steve said. But it wasn’t, was it?”  
  
Jensen winces.  
  
The kid is angry, too. Angry with his father for being human.  
  
But he lets Colin talk. About not being enough to keep his mother alive. And now his father, leaving him too.  
  
It’s for the better, in theory.  
  


 

~

 

 

“I can’t do this.”  
  
Colin’s gone to the cafeteria. Jensen talks to Jared. He lets himself break, just a little.  
  
He pleads.  
  
“Please come back to me.”  
  


 

~

 

He’s sleeping.

  
He wakes.  
  
Time isn’t worth the effort of keeping.  
  
He counts the breaths, the rise and falls of Jared’s chest instead.  
  


 

~

 

“You okay?” Colin asks, and it’s not the way it’s supposed to be.  
  
He should be asking.  
  
But he doesn’t have the energy. He doesn’t remember when he’s last eaten – maybe a sandwich Gen shoved into his hands.  
  
He scrubs a hand over his face. He hasn’t shaved, either.  
  
It was only yesterday, wasn’t it?  
  
He doesn’t know anymore. It could be ten yesterdays, for all he knows.  
  
Jared’s eyes still haven’t opened.  
  
White.  
  
He’s drowning in it.  
  


 

~

 

Colin tells him about the training. The military.  
  
“I mean, I understand why he’s against it. But – it’d be nice, if he didn’t hate me for it.”  
  
Jensen’s head snaps up from the charts he’s been checking.  
  
It’s a precarious normal he’s trying.  
  
“God, kid, he doesn’t hate you. Don’t ever think that. He loves you more than anything.”  
  
Colin lets out a short bark of disbelieving laughter, a sound that midway turns into a sob, because it hits – this is the part where waiting loses sense, where it feels pointless, hopeless.  
  
“You too, you know.”  
  
Jensen doesn’t get it. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“Don’t be. Just take care of him while I’m gone, alright?”  
  
Colin’s smile is watery, but there is the same dimpled grin Jensen’s seen so many times.  
  
Jensen nods, because he doesn’t know how to do anything else.  
  


 

~

 

Jared wakes up on a Saturday morning.  
  
Jensen’s there, changing his dressing.  
  
He freezes when he finds bright hazel eyes staring back at him.  
  
Jensen doesn’t know what to say, other than, “I love you. God, I love you, you idiot.”  
  
And Jared doesn’t laugh, doesn’t look at him like he’s crazy, just -  
  
“You too,” Jared rasps.  
  
It’s all too much.  
  
It’s words he didn’t think he would hear. Not now, maybe never again.  
  
Colin laughs from the chair he’s sitting in – real, genuine – and comes over.  
  
“Dad.” And Jared smiles at both of them softly, eyes just a little too bright and wet,  but nobody calls him on it, because nothing matters in this moment.  
  
It’s going to be hard. There’s going to be rehab, re-evaluation of Jared’s ability to continue on the job, dealing with Colin’s departure – they’ll worry, they’ll call, they’ll miss him so much – but Jensen will be there. He trusts that Jared understands,  _knows_  what they are. That they’re enough. That  _he_  is. That he’s not going anywhere.  
  
Jared squeezes his hand weakly. Jensen looks up. Jared’s smiling tiredly at him.  
  
_Yeah, we’re going to be okay_ , Jensen thinks.


End file.
